


The Sun Scratched in the Stars

by chibicrow



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Childhood Trauma, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25014772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibicrow/pseuds/chibicrow
Summary: A boy on the run from a dangerous home situation falls asleep at a dojo in the countryside. Discovered and taken in by the owners, he grows to understand what love – and loss of that love – truly means, with the help of a rambunctious, fiery-spirited boy close to his age.
Relationships: Homura Takeru & Revolver | Kougami Ryoken & Kamishirakawa Kiku, Homura Takeru/Revolver | Kougami Ryouken
Comments: 78
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

Ryoken had always admired Father, especially his dedication to his work and his goal of saving humanity from imminent death. The way he spoke of his projects inspired him to study hard with Dr. Taki and Dr. Aso so he could be just like him. The sparkle in his father’s eyes, the way he talked faster out of sheer excitement—it filled Ryoken with such love and reverence for him.

And that was why he was on the run.

“Ryoken!” _Crash!_ “Ryoken, get back here!” _Thud. Slam!_

After Ryoken had spent the usual time sitting amongst the flowers, breathing in the sweet, salty air of Stardust Road, he had returned inside and overheard his father talking with Drs. Taki, Aso, and Genome in a higher pitch than normal. He hadn’t understood everything that was said, but his ears became hot once he heard “take those kids” and “keep them isolated”. But Father could sense Ryoken on the other side of the door, even with it closed, becoming the catalyst for the wild chase.

Whoever that was—screaming, shattering everything in the lab—was not his father, but a demon. A mad demon who had warped all the good about his father and who cared nothing about the means, if the end goal was achieved. And Ryoken knew he had to high tail it and run.

Ryoken hadn’t known and couldn’t fully comprehend what Father was planning. Three things were certain, though: one, it was something scary; two, had it not been scary, Father wouldn’t be coming after him and screaming at him for overhearing; three, he, Ryoken, couldn’t stay there.

“ _Ryoken!_ ”

Ryoken usually didn’t disobey Father. He had no reason to. He always did as he was told: go to bed at this time, study, eat this, but don’t eat too much of that or you’ll get sick. Go to Dr. Aso or Dr. Taki for any problems. You can go outside, but don’t go too far, not out into what’s across the water. And especially don’t bother Father when he’s working, or you’re not asked to come to him. And Ryoken gladly did it all because, to him, obeying Father was his life’s purpose until he was old enough to take charge of his own life.

But, at that moment, Ryoken’s gut was telling him something different. _You can’t stay here._ _Go_ , it said. _Go far away_.

“I’m sorry, Father,” said Ryoken, “but I have to do this.” Double checking his belongings, he opened the hatch and slid down the tunnel, past the labs, past the underground entrances, out into the greenery, making his way to the outside world—the world outside Father’s house, those cozy walls that had become so dangerous—for the very first time. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Den City**

Ryoken couldn’t recall life beyond that island, that house. He’d been inside – trapped, really—for as long as he could remember. Sure, his father did let him outside sometimes, to see the ocean at night or be among the flowers during the day. But no farther than that and no more often. Being among other people who weren’t Father’s coworkers was unthinkable.

“They just don’t understand, Ryoken,” his father had told him. “We’re trying to help, yet they continually reject us. You don’t need to concern yourself with them.”

Ryoken wondered then how much of that—how much of that rejection—was actually true.

From his studies, Ryoken recognized the hovering skyscrapers, the bumper-to-bumper cars, and the crowded people. Smells of all kinds of food that he didn’t know—from sweet to sour to strong wafted through his nose. Stomping his foot on the ground, wincing as he did so, he knew he was stepping on concrete, not the smooth tile or plush carpet back on the island.

And the people. So many people, chattering on their phones, laughing in high pitches with one another in sync. A sea of people was walking in many directions. Ryoken scurried to the side of a steel building to not be trampled on, like an ant in the path of an elephant. 

A _city_. Civilization – the newest word Ryoken had learned the day before. How could Father not have had wanted him to be here, among other people? It’s much, much, _much_ more fun than being stuck inside all the time.

 _“But . . . what now?”_ thought Ryoken. He safely ran away from home, but what was the next step? He had no clue. But the grumbling in his stomach did. He hadn’t eaten since lunch, which was a while ago. Digging into his satchel, he pulled out a wallet, checking what was inside. A substantial amount of money for the day, for a seven-going-on-eight year old running away from home, was inside. He’d figured money he’d gotten from Dr. Genome for helping him with secret projects that even Father didn’t know about would come in handy someday. At least he had enough to get something small.

Wandering around, Ryoken scanned the streets, clutching his rumbling stomach. The sweet, tangy, strong smells bombarded him, tempting him to try one food or that one. What he could and was allowed by Father to eat was extremely limited, so the desire to consume everything was alluring. Hunger finally taking hold, Ryoken quickly settled on a hot dog from a hot dog cart. Better than nothing, not to mention cheap. Plus, he’d never had a hot dog before.

A burly man with a white apron stood behind the cart, fumbling with his phone, eyebrows crinkled. Ryoken hesitated, not wanting to disturb the man from whatever he was doing. As it happened, he didn’t have to. The burly man put his phone aside on a ledge, having sensed a smaller than probably usual customer.

“Welcom-oh, it’s just a kid,” said he. Ryoken’s eyebrow twitched. “Welcome, anyway. Whaddaya want?”

“A plain hot dog, please,” said Ryoken, mustering all the manners he had.

“Plain? You must be new to town. I don’t serve plain hot dogs. Got spicy with mustard and relish, all the toppings on another, a hot dog with a new special sauce I’ve been meaning to experiment with customers—”

Ryoken hadn’t had time for an essay. Neither did his stomach.

“Then,” said Ryoken as-a-matter-of-factly, “a hot dog that won’t upset a sensitive stomach.” Realizing how rude that sounded, he quickly added, but not really meaning it, “Please.”

The man behind the cart stared at him for a moment before exploding into laughter, attracting the attention of a few people walking past. Ryoken raised an eyebrow. “A kid with _spunk_. I like that,” the man said, reaching for a bag of hot dog buns. “Right. A regular hot dog coming right up.” After a few moments, the plain as day and night hot dog found its way into Ryoken’s hands in the form of tightly wrapped aluminum foil.

Studying it, Ryoken asked, “How much?”

“Oh, this one’s on me, kid,” the man said.

“No, really,” insisted Ryoken.

“And I _really_ insist,” the man returned. “It’s on me. Take it and go.” Not that Ryoken couldn’t have afforded it, with his more than enough money for a seven-turning-eight year old, but it would’ve seemed rude to force his way to pay. So, he dropped the subject. Thanking the man behind the cart, Ryoken wandered around the city with his aluminum-covered hot dog, looking for a place to sit and eat, barely dodging the dogs jumping up to him, attempting to snatch his meal away.

Being in the city was _rough_.

At last, Ryoken found his way to a park. Sitting on one of the sunbaked benches, he unwrapped the aluminum foil, and, taking a big gulp, bit into the hot dog. He chewed it slowly, taking a million bites before swallowing, savoring each one. _It was good!_ Hunger truly overtook him as he wolfed down the rest, and by the time he went in for another big bite, the hot dog was completely gone.

His stomach growled even more intensely. Not as much as before, but that plain hot dog wasn’t enough to fill him.

Ryoken sighed, jumping off the bench.

* * *

“Back again,” said the man behind the hot dog cart. “That measly plain hot dog wasn’t enough, huh?”

Ryoken didn’t respond. The man laughed.

“I told you,” he said, rolling over a wiener on the grill. “But kids like you gotta experience what adults say, I suppose. So? What’ll it be this time, boy?”

Ryoken studied the menu, going line by line. He was still learning how to read the more complicated kanji, so he couldn’t understand everything. Intrigued by the picture of a hot dog with ketchup, mustard, and other toppings he didn’t recognize, however, Ryoken fixed his attention on that, squinting his eyes, as if that would help him to understand. The man behind the hot dog cart laughed, breaking Ryoken’s focus.

“I see you’re interested in my newest special, huh? What about your sensitive stomach?” asked the man.

Out of reflex, Ryoken touched his stomach, which emitted low, almost painful grumbles from hunger. That other, plain hot dog sure didn’t last long. Ryoken sighed. “Food is food. I’ll take the special.”

The man behind the hot dog cart gave a hearty laugh, and Ryoken pouted. What’s the deal? He just wanted something to eat. Adults were weird. The man behind the hot dog cart then whipped up the super special hot dog in little time, handing it in its final wrapped form with more napkins than necessary and a bottled water to Ryoken, gratefully accepting all of them. 

“How much?” asked Ryoken again, taking out his money, determined as ever to pay the man who gave him food not once, but twice now in a matter of minutes. But, the man behind the hot dog cart shook his head. Ryoken tilted his head.

“Still on me, kid.”

Ryoken was about to slap a couple of yen on the counter in protest, but the man behind the hot dog cart still shook his head.

“Go. My next customers are coming. They’ll make up for it.”

Ryoken obeyed, taking his water and his hefty hot dog, and went on his way back to the park bench. What was the deal? It’s not like he was a charity case. It didn’t make sense for that man to not want him to pay him. Or was he that sure of himself and his business that a handful of missed yen wouldn’t have made a difference? Either way, if the universe didn’t want Ryoken to pay, then he had to listen.

Ryoken returned to his food-eating park bench—still, surprisingly, empty—and unwrapped his new hot dog, immediately having to use one of the many, many, _many_ napkins the man behind the hot dog cart gave him. There were more condiments and toppings than Ryoken thought even existed for it, beyond the red and yellow stuff. The tanginess took him by surprise as he bit into it, but once his taste buds adjusted, he devoured it within several bites.

It’s official: his new favorite food was hot dogs.

Stomach finally satisfied, Ryoken pondered his next move. He ran away from home and was safe from whatever Father was planning.

_Now what?_

There wasn’t much the world could offer to a seven-turning-eight year old runaway. But, Ryoken knew one thing: staying in the city increased the chances of being discovered by Father and everyone else. He needed to go farther.

_But where?_

Ryoken crossed his arms and legs, closing his eyes. _Think, Ryoken. Think. Where do you need to go?_ But his mind couldn’t come up with anything, no matter how much he concentrated and forced his forehead to hurt. Maybe he should just go back. End this childish nonsense, as Father would repeatedly tell him. He wasn’t cut out for being on his own. But, did he really have much of a choice? He definitely, absolutely, without a doubt would’ve been in danger had he stayed.

“What should I do?” mumbled Ryoken aloud to no one, except to the group of birds in front of him. No sooner had he said that, a blue and white feathered creature—different from all the other city birds—hopped over to his foot. Ryoken and it stared at each other for what felt like forever to him when the bird cocked its head to the side – in confusion? Recognition? – and flew away into the horizon. After some thought, Ryoken realized that bird was extremely lost. Was it running—flying—away from home too? He laughed. Birds might migrate, but they don’t run away from their nest. Birds like his little feathered friend were usually in mountain trails.

_The mountain._

There was no mountain in sight. Flat land stretched across the horizon with the tallest structures being the city buildings and the trees in the park. But something in his gut told him that was where he needed to be.

 _The mountain_.

Father never allowed him to read any books that weren’t textbooks or strictly scientific, but Ryoken did get his hands on a few texts that were more spiritual rather than scientific, stashed deep underneath Father’s desk. He couldn’t understand all the words—he’s only seven, after all—but he did remember a bunch of the tales involved some holy person journeying to the mountain. To reach a higher state of mind—whatever that meant—or to seek the advice of a holy man or even deity, many, many of the stories took place on the mountain. Ryoken didn’t consider himself spiritual. Not even close. But maybe his next step in running away from his home was to follow his new feathered friend to its home. Checking his wallet one more time, he hopped off the bench.

* * *

**Den City Train Station**

“Next!” the woman behind the ticket counter announced. Ryoken adjusted the strap of his satchel and compliantly walked to the counter.

“G-Good afternoon,” Ryoken meekly said, shrinking back a little at the woman’s presence. Compared the man behind the hot dog cart, the woman behind the ticket counter was scary. Not bothered by Ryoken’s nerves in the slightest, the woman behind the ticket counter merely adjusted her glasses and looked at her computer screen, very uninterested in what was happening around her.

“Where you headed?” she asked, not even looking at Ryoken.

“The-The mountain?” Ryoken wasn’t sure why he was so unsettled by her—his father was leagues scarier, especially when he got mad—but something wasn’t right. He needed to get this over and done with. But the woman behind the counter only frowned, meaning it won’t be as over and done with as soon as he’d like.

“The _mountain_? Kid, you need to be more specific. We got lots of mountains in this country. And even then, there are no trains going directly to any mountains that _I_ know of.” The woman behind the counter drummed her fingers, the irritated sound of her fingernails passing through the double-layered glass between them. Ryoken glanced behind him and saw the line had grown quite a bit since he was in it: adults in their work clothes, some with small kids, and kids not that much older than he talking with each other. They had places to go. So did he. He had best get a move on.

“Okay. One ticket for the city by the closest mountain to here,” said Ryoken, the annoyance in his voice matching hers. Not wanting to sound entirely rude, he added, “Please.” The woman behind the counter glared at him for a few moments before punching a few buttons on her monster-sized machine. A loud whirl scared the daylights out of Ryoken as the woman reached toward her right, ripping a piece of paper, and shoved it towards him.

“One ticket to Shirakawa. That’ll be 2,700 yen.”

 _Shirakawa._ Ryoken pulled out his wallet and slowly pushed the amount to her. She snatched the amount, pressed a few more buttons, and a machine made a clunking sound. The loud whirl scared Ryoken again as she reached for the machine, tore the piece of paper, and handed it to him.

“Platform 6-H, on your left. Last train departs in five minutes. Enjoy your trip,” the woman behind the counter said in a monotone. Ryoken knew she didn’t really mean that last part, but he thanked her anyway. He sprinted—as much as he physically could— to platform 6-H, where men in dark-colored uniforms and hats were furiously waving at customers filing inside the train. Ryoken seemed to be the last one passenger to get on.

 _He barely made it_.

Clutching his satchel, Ryoken slowly walked as he looked down at his ticket: Car Three, Seat Two. He’s in Car Three. He needed to find Seat Two. Looking up, he glanced at the empty seats, adjusting his eyes to read if the seats had numbers. He couldn’t really tell.

“Excuse me, young boy, could you please make your way to your seat?” A voice behind him made Ryoken nearly jump out of his skin, abruptly turning around. The voice belonged to a man much younger than the man behind the hot dog cart. He had on rectangular blue glasses, sideburns neatly cut. “We’ll be departing for Shirakawa shortly.”

“Can you show me where this seat is first?” Ryoken waved the ticket at the man, who gently grabbed it from him. The man studied it for about five seconds before he handed it back to Ryoken. He wordlessly guided him to the farthest seat in the car, next to a window.

“Please make yourself comfortable and be sure to let us know if there are any problems,” he said. Ryoken thanked him and settled into his seat, placing his satchel in the seat next to him. Not a whole lot of customers riding that day, it seemed—just the way Ryoken liked it. The seats weren’t too uncomfortable—wooden with cushion—but Ryoken did hope the ride wouldn’t be long enough for it to become a problem. Not too long after he got settled, the conductor announced over a loudspeaker that the doors were closing, and they were going to Shirakawa. On cue, a low musical note sounded followed by the _wshhhh_ of doors and the roaring of an engine.

And they were off.

* * *

**Shirakawa**

Multiple trips to the bathroom (he probably shouldn’t have downed all that water), about five naps, and much staring out at the window to look at the green farmland and bright-colored hill country later, Ryoken finally arrived at his impromptu, runaway destination at the evening twilight. He followed the crowd away from the station and found himself in yet another street filled with all kinds of people walking through, much like back in the city he came from—except this place was vastly different. No skyscrapers to be found—only small buildings with enough space between them to walk through. The ground wasn’t even as rock solid as in the city. It was mostly smoothed-over dirt.

Even the people were different. In the city, everyone rushed to one place or another, but, in this new place, time seemed to slow down. People walked at half the speed, and Ryoken could understand some of what they were talking about . . . barely. They slowed down the talking, but the way they talked—the way they rounded certain letters—was extremely unfamiliar to Ryoken’s ears. There was a word for that, but, in Ryoken’s sleepy state, worsened by the slow pace of the place, he wasn’t about to remember it. The sun had set, and evening was beginning.

And Ryoken, once again, had nowhere to go.

 _It’s not the worst thing in the world_ , he thought. _It’s much better than if I had stayed with Father._ Thinking of that moment again brought a lump in Ryoken’s throat. He swallowed hard and rubbed his eyes furiously. “Big boys don’t cry,” Father told him once. But he shed a few tears anyway. He had really looked up to Father. He really did. So why would Father take innocent kids – kids like him – and lock them up? What had that meant anyway? Did it have something to do with that “saving humanity” thing Father always went on about? And if it did . . . what in the world did hurting kids have to do with it? Ryoken couldn’t understand, and it made his chest hurt thinking about it. Maybe he’s just exhausted, and that was making him so weepy. Yeah, that had to have been it. His feelings get all wonky if he’s tired.

Ryoken decided he should find a place to sleep. It was close to his bedtime, and he’d be in for a rough time in the morning if he didn’t settle in soon. His body was very particular about rest. But, knocking on people’s doors and asking if they had places to stay for a runaway seven-turning eight-year-old didn’t seem like a very good idea. So, readjusting his satchel, he decided to rough it outdoors for the night, as much as he preferred a futon, and figure out the rest in the morning.

But where could Ryoken go?

In his roaming around, he didn’t see a park like in the city. It was buildings and little shops as far as the eye could see. He couldn’t even see the mountain that was supposedly nearby the town. Part of the reason he came to the town, and the landmark was nowhere to be seen. Ryoken decided to just follow the row of buildings and hope for some open space somewhere – if he didn’t fall asleep along the way, that is.

Ryoken slowly walked along the dirt path as shopkeepers threw their curtains over their stands, closing their businesses for the night. No one paid Ryoken any mind as he slowly walked, yawning every so often. Either children were free to run around outside at night here or no one really cared. It didn’t matter to him – the less trouble, the better. As he continued, he found himself farther away from the heavy foot traffic area and more into what seemed to be a neighborhood, the houses spread farther apart than the little shops. It was a lot darker than even a few minutes ago, so Ryoken could barely tell how the houses looked. But they looked a lot bigger. No comparison to the house he was in, away on that island, of course, but these houses weren’t small in the slightest.

Finally, Ryoken found an unusually open area behind one house. It was probably his imagination, but he felt goosebumps up and down his arms, instinctively rubbing them to keep warm. That wouldn’t change Ryoken’s mind, though. The area wasn’t that far from the base of the mountain, he guessed, so that might be why it was so chilly. That wouldn’t change Ryoken’s mind, though.

It was in this area that Ryoken instantly relaxed. He felt unusually at peace in this rock path-covered, flourishing green area, decorated with little stone statues that looked like little kids, littler than him, standing around, softly giggling. There was something calming about the air here, calming enough that Ryoken felt himself falling in a trance. A breeze gently flowed back and forth, as if inviting him to settle down right there.

And he was more than happy to accept the invitation.

Ryoken sat next to one of the statues and curled against it, clutching his satchel to keep warm. It wasn’t the futon he was used to, and the statue was a little on the rough side but compared to what he could’ve faced back with Father, it’s an improvement. Crickets chirping and the barely audible breeze among the plants lulled him until, finally, he was fast asleep.

* * *

“Harue, look at this!”

Closing the box with her gardening tools, the woman delicately put her hair in a bun and walked calmly toward her husband’s perplexed voice. What could Asahi be so excited about this time of night? But, as she got closer, her eyes darted from the _jizo_ to the slumbering small boy, one whom they’d never seen before, next to it. The boy was so pale, his hair so white, he could easily pass for a spirit, had he not been visibly leaning against the _jizo._

“Oh my,” was all Harue could say.

“What should we do?” Asahi grumbled. “I don’t recognize the boy from any families in this town.”

Harue put her hands on her hips and sighed. “Don’t be silly. We need to let Hisahito and Ryoko know. They probably know whose child it is.”

“True, true. They do all that traveling for work, so they have a lot of contacts,” Asahi agreed, nodding his head. But he furrowed his brow. “That’s for tomorrow. What about now?”

Harue made her way to the sleeping child, carefully picking him up as to not disturb his sleep. Fortunately, the child made no sudden moves. A heavy sleeper, just like their grandson. She wondered if the two of them would get along. Well, if Ryoko has her way, they’d find out soon enough. But then wasn’t the time to think about that. For now, she decided, she and Asahi would look after him. 

“He’s staying with us.” 

Asahi sighed, having had a strong feeling it’d come to this. Turning his back to his wife, however, he smiled.

“Well, we best should take good care of him now, shouldn’t we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELCOME TO THE START OF MY MOST AMBITIOUS FIC PROJECT IN MY "CAREER" AS A FIC WRITER 😂😂😂 About two months ago, I had the biggest urge to write for the first time in a few months, yet, I had no clue what to write. But, when I looked at my Fic Ideas Word doc, I saw "Ryoken stumbling onto the dojo," (that I clearly wrote after watching a certain One Punch Man episode) and I decided to roll with it.
> 
> So here we are. A childhood TakeRyo fic that's actually gonna be part one of three fics, if all goes well. 🙏🏼 And my Twitter pals can tell you I am THRILLED about this project, especially since I haven't embarked on anything like this before. (And I've been writing fics for a while now lmao)
> 
> I decided to put up the prologue AND chapter 1 at the same time just b/c it felt better that way, so hopefully it made y'all pumped for the fic (and the series) as I am >:3c Please let me know what y'all think if y'all can! Much appreciated 💖


	3. Chapter 3

Takeru and Kiku tip-toed across the wooden mats to a sliding door decorated with blue and white swirls and bright red flowers. Takeru looked around for other signs of life and reached for the handle.

“I heard Mommy say that boy was in here,” said Takeru in as much of a whisper as he could manage.

“The boy who looks like a ghost, right?” asked Kiku, smirking as she did so. Takeru’s face paled, showing his reddened face, as he fumbled with the circular handle and harrumphed.

“Spirit, not ghost,” insisted Takeru in his hushed voice.

“Same thing.”

Takeru sighed as he quickly opened the sliding door to the spare guest room in the house. Takeru had always been an early riser, but he was up earlier than usual that morning thanks to the fumbled noises of Mommy, Daddy, Jii-chan, and Baa-chan. It had been hard to sleep through all the noise, so Takeru had decided to listen in to the conversation. He was unable to understand a whole lot, since he kept yawning, but he _could_ hear them talking about “that boy who looks like a spirit in the guestroom.” Immediately, Takeru’s ears had perked up, his sluggishness gone. _There was someone here!_ But, if he was a spirit – or looked like one – Takeru needed to be safe. And Kiku had all the strength in the world against things out of this world. Kiku had teased him but agreed to protect him.

Upon opening the door, Takeru and Kiku saw a boy not too much older than they were, fast sleep on the tatami, facing the wall, one of his hands almost forming a fist. Takeru entered first, Kiku following right behind him. They tip-toed closer and closer until they were right next to him, fast asleep, softly breathing. Suddenly, Takeru gasped as he took in the boy’s appearance. His white and purple hair glowed in the sunlight, his skin looking as smooth as one of Baa-chan’s dolls – but less creepy. Definitely less creepy. He wasn’t a ghost or a spirit at all. 

He was . . . he was . . .

“Pretty,” exhaled Takeru, louder than intended. No sooner had he said that, the boy shifted to being flat on his back and let out a small moan. Takeru and Kiku were silent, staring intently at the new visitor as he rolled back and forth in his sleep, muttering.

“Is he okay?” whispered Kiku. But Takeru didn’t hear her. He only watched the pretty boy roll back and forth, as if he was taken over by something. But, even then, he was the prettiest boy—the prettiest _anyone—_ he’d ever seen, even more than Mommy or Kiku. He was completely mesmerized. As he would a colorful seashell by the pier or a shiny rock by the mountain, Takeru reached out, his palm touching the boy’s forehead, the boy calming down, staying in place. But, then, Daddy’s voice boomed in his head: “Takeru, don’t touch that. Don’t touch him. Stay away.” And, reflexively, Takeru broke out of his trance and yanked his hand away.

“Takeru?” asked Kiku gently. “Are _you_ okay?”

Takeru closed his eyes, gently shaking his head. “Something . . . something is weird about this boy.”

“A good weird or a bad weird?”

Takeru frowned. “Middle weird.”

“ _Middle_ weird?” Kiku raised her voice, but Takeru shushed her. The last thing they needed was Mommy and Daddy to find them. But, Kiku only persisted, “What do you mean by middle weird?”

But Takeru wouldn’t answer. Couldn’t. He didn’t know how to explain it. Sure, this boy, shiny white and blue hair and sparkling skin, was very, _very_ pretty. But pretty people don’t have trouble sleeping—that’s what Mommy always tells him. That’s why they’re pretty. So, why was this stranger—this boy, the prettiest anyone he has ever seen— fighting to sleep?

* * *

“Ryoken . . .”

“Ryoken, there’s no escape . . .”

“You can’t hide forever, Ryoken . . .”

_Ryoken couldn’t determine whose voice it was, but the low, demanding tone reminded him of Father’s. And his heart dropped. He came all that way to hide from Father, only for Father to call out to him._

“F-Father,” _Ryoken choked, suddenly losing balance, gaining light-headedness. Weakness. Powerlessness. He couldn’t breathe. The breath-robbing force slowly took a human form, the human form of Father, and Ryoken’s eyes widened, unable to say a word._

“You can’t run forever,” _Father said._ “You’re my loyal son. And no loyal son of mine would disobey me now, would he?”

_Ryoken moved his mouth to answer, but, with no breath, couldn’t sound it out, struggling to get Father’s hands off him. He wanted to scream. Cry. Anything. But he couldn’t. How could Father do this to him?_

_“_ Ryoken,” _said Father before he tightened his grip on Ryoken’s neck for the last time._

* * *

Ryoken’s eyes snapped open, and, as sweat poured down his face, he shot up in bed, whacking a boy’s forehead and further grounding him back into . . . reality? It had to have been reality—his forehead really hurt!

“Ow, ow, _ow_ ,” the other boy muttered. Ryoken massaged his temples with his sweaty palms and blinked to absorb the new lighting. That’s right—he’s no longer with Father. He ran away to a town by the mountains, and he got sleepy, so he slept outside by these statues and—

Wait. What was he doing _inside_ then? And, more importantly, – Ryoken looked at the red-and-white haired boy and the dark blue-haired pigtailed girl next to him – who’re they? 

“Ugh, Takeru, I told you you were too close!” the girl huffed, crossing her arms, as the other boy – Takeru – continued to whimper and whine. So, the boy was Takeru, huh?

“But I wanted to make sure he was okay,” was the reply. Ryoken raised an eyebrow.

“Excuse me . . .” said Ryoken, but the other two carried on their conversation in front of him as though he wasn’t there, as though he were a ghost. Finally, Ryoken grabbed the pillow he was sleeping on and threw it with as much force as he could at Takeru, hitting him square in the face, and the two of them immediately stopped and stared.

“Listen when someone’s talking, will you?” asked Ryoken, frowning.

Takeru pouted, grabbing the pillow, and tossing it back. “That’s not very nice of you. Throwing pillows at strangers is not nice.”

“But being close to their faces when they’re sleeping _is_?” teased the girl, and the boy’s face turned beet red.

“Kiku!”

So, _that_ was the girl’s name. 

The door suddenly slid open, revealing a tall woman with long brownish red hair and gray eyes who stormed in the room and scooped up Takeru by the stomach while Takeru whined.

“I should’ve known the ruckus was from you,” said the woman while Takeru squirmed in her arms. “Just you wait until Daddy gets home.”

“But _Mommyyyyyyyy_ ,” Takeru whined.

“No buts!” she said. “You know better than to mess with people when they’re sleeping. You too, Kiku,” Kiku winced, as if someone had slapped her. “Goodness, you two together are double trouble.”

Ryoken only watched, not out of amusement (okay, maybe seeing the boy who had ignored him get in trouble was a _little_ amusing) but out of curiosity. This woman was a mother. The closest he had to a mother was Dr. Taki, but he never really considered her a _mother_. He remembered when he first learned the words father and mother, how he had asked Father if he had a mother. Father had stopped for a moment and thought about the question, but he had shaken his head.

“What’s important is that you’re here, Ryoken. That doesn’t matter. And don’t ask again.”

And Ryoken had believed and obeyed him, as the dutiful son. But, now, seeing an actual mother brought back that memory, that memory of Father saying the details of his birth into the world didn’t matter. His chest felt tight. Maybe the past didn’t matter, but . . . didn’t Ryoken still deserve to know where he came from? Had Father not told him to protect him? Or – Ryoken thought back to the nightmare – was it for something else?

Or was his mind tricking him into thinking it’s something else?

The woman put down the sniffing and sobbing Takeru on the floor, sighing, then walked over to Ryoken and sat next to him. Up close, Ryoken had a better look at her hair, the long brownish red hair showing a few . . . orange strands? Her light brown eyes stared into his icy blue ones as she smiled.

“I bet you have a lot of questions, don’t you?” she asked. Ryoken only nodded, unsure of what to say. The whole thing was too new for him, everything happening so fast. But, if there’s anything he learned so far, it’s that he should let things run their course and not fight them. And, oddly enough, even surrounded by people he didn’t know, he felt . . . at peace where he was. His heart wasn’t pounding, hands not like he’d dumped them in sticky, yucky water. The woman smiled, a warm smile Ryoken hadn’t seen before from anyone.

“But, first, I have a question for you,” she said. Ryoken didn’t blink. “What’s your name?”

 _Don’t tell them your name_ , Father’s voice boomed in his head. Ryoken tried to think of a fake name, but nothing was coming to mind, quickly scratching that plan. What did it matter? He’s not returning to Father, and he’s far enough away.

“R-Ryoken,” he muttered, swallowing the last part, not looking at the woman in the eye. He heard a loud gasp not from the woman but from his other two visitors. Takeru had made his way next to the woman, his grayish blue eyes sparkling.

“Your name’s just like Mommy’s!” squealed Takeru. The woman laughed, a lower voiced laugh than Ryoken had expected, and ruffled the top of Takeru’s hair. Takeru only giggled.

“No, no, no,” the woman said. “He said Ryo _ken_. I’m Ryo _ko_ , silly.”

“Yeah, Takeru. Clean out your ears,” said Kiku.

Takeru huffed. “My ears _are_ clean, Kiku!”

The woman – Ryoko – raised an eyebrow, a glint appearing in her own eyes, getting up from the floor. “Really, Takeru? Did you actually remember to clean your ears this morning?”

“Moooommmy!”

“So that’s a no.” Ryoko picked up Takeru, who gave a little whine, though not as much as before. “Come on, Firecracker. We’re scooping out your ears.” She looked towards Ryoken and smiled. “You too, Ryoken.”

Ryoken slowly got up from his bed and ran up to the woman—or more like hobbled, since his legs were still asleep. But Ryoko didn’t judge. She only smiled, waiting patiently for him. And Ryoken hadn’t realized then, but that moment would come to mean more than he’d ever thought.

* * *

Ryoken followed Ryoko, carrying Takeru, and Kiku out to the breezy outside. As they walked, he recognized the large open green space and statues from the night before. It must’ve been nice to have easy access to an open space like that. But, Ryoken still had to ask one thing.

“How come there’s no one here?” Ryoken asked.

“Hm?” Ryoko readjusted her grip on Takeru, who had already fallen asleep.

“This whole area is a park, right? Is it just early?”

Ryoko smiled and shook her head. “Ah, you must be a city boy. There aren’t any parks around here.”

What kind of place didn’t have a park? Ryoken tilted his head to the side in confusion. “If it’s not a park, then what is it?”

Ryoko rubbed circles into Takeru’s back. “Well, let’s just say you’re in a really, really, _really_ huuuuuuuuge backyard. This is all our family land,” she said.

And Ryoken thought his house was big. Well, it was. It was a literal island. But to think he’d wander onto a property that would rival that . . . Then, that meant he went and wandered onto someone else’s land without permission! It’d be hard to think of anyone back _there_ who _wouldn’t_ be mad at him if they found out. Ryoken felt his chest get tight.

“I’m-I’m really sorry!” Ryoken said quickly, head down and bowing from the waist. Instead of a strong verbal lashing, though, Ryoken felt a compassionate hand on top of his head, so he brought his head up to find Ryoko and a sleepy-eyed Takeru were looking at him. It felt weird. Why was this woman being so nice to him, a stranger from the outside who slept on her family’s property? Well, he didn’t _know_ it was their property, but he had still intruded. So why?

The woman rubbed the top of Ryoken’s head, her eyes soft. “You don’t have to apologize. This is your home now, and it’ll be that way as long as you need it to be, okay?”

Ryoken furiously rubbed his eyes with his sleeves, nodding. He got his sleep. A nightmare-interrupted sleep, but still the sleep he needed. What was he so weepy eyed for?

“Okay.”

Kiku and Takeru snuck glances at each other without a word, and the four of them continued walking in silence, save for the high-pitched _cheep-cheep_ ing of birds towards the mountain.

* * *

“Alright, face-washing time!” announced Ryoko after they walked a bit farther. “Who’s first?”

Ryoken looked curiously at the well in front of him. It had drains like the sinks back on the island, and handles . . . but it was more like an open tub? Were they really going to wash their faces _here_?

“Takeru will go first!” Kiku shouted, raising her hand. Takeru pouted.

“Come _oooooooon_ , Kiku,” Takeru complained. But Kiku only stuck her tongue out, deepening Takeru’s pout.

“I washed my face twice this morning. Your turn,” Kiku grinned. Ryoken wondered then how the two were related. They didn’t look a lot alike, but they sure acted as though they were brother and sister. But maybe he thought that because he was an only child. Back on the island, there was no one around his age to play or talk or take a nap outside in the flowerbeds with. It was just him, Father, and Father’s co-workers, who were closer to Father’s age than to his. Of course he’d think two people close in age were blood related.

Ryoko placed Takeru toward the sink-like contraption, and Takeru made a disgusted face.

“I don’t wanna!” he yelled.

“Please, Takeru?” Ryoko pleaded with the boy. Takeru didn’t budge as he wanted to make as much of a deal out of it as humanly possible. But Ryoken didn’t understand what the fuss was. It’s just face-washing. Sighing, Ryoken turned on the faucet, Ryoko, Takeru – who had stopped whining – and Kiku staring at him as he rolled up his long white sleeves that he didn’t remember wearing yesterday. He cupped his hands, letting the cool water gather and spill through them as he threw it against his face a few times, dampening his bangs. After doing that a few times, he turned off the faucet, and shook his head to get the drops out of his hair.

Staring at a watery-eyed Takeru, Ryoken said, “It’s not that bad. You’ll be perfectly safe.” Then, remembering how Takeru had thrown a pillow at him for no good reason and—okay, maybe he wanted to rile him up a bit—he added, with a cunning smile, “Unless you’re a scaredy-cat.”

“Ryoken?!” Ryoko gasped, and Kiku tried to hide her laughter. Takeru’s eyes immediately dried up, and he huffed as loudly as he could, making Ryoken mutter a sound of amusement under his breath. Takeru’s bottom lip covered his upper as he walked towards Ryoken, mere centimeters away from his face. Ryoken couldn’t help but think of a cute animal trying to be threatening.

“I am _not_ a scaredy-cat!” yelled Takeru. Then, using what looked like all his might to turn on the faucet and dousing—nowhere near washing—his face with water, his shirt dripping wet, Kiku full-blown laughing. Ryoko sighed as she picked up two towels on the side, handing one to Takeru, the other to Ryoken. Ryoken maintained a smug expression on his face as he delicately wiped it, Takeru furiously rubbing his.

“You three are something else,” said Ryoko. “Maybe breakfast will calm you down.”

Takeru’s eyes sparkled. “What we having?” he eagerly asked. Ryoko only tussled the top of Takeru’s hair, and he giggled. Something tugged at Ryoken’s heart, and it ached.

“You’ll see,” she replied.

* * *

The four of them went back inside, and Ryoken’s nose detected all kinds of food he didn’t recognize, much like in Den City. Only that time around, he hadn’t smelled any hot dogs. It had been a little early for those, anyway. He recognized the fishy smell, but the others were a little harder to figure out. Following the others into an area, Ryoken saw an array of white, blue, pink, and brown piled on the stove. He hadn’t known what any of it was, but it looked really good.

“Welcome back,” a gruff, yet surprisingly gentle voice rocked Ryoken out of his food trance, making Ryoken look up out of reflex. The source of the voice was a man who looked way younger than the Man Behind the Hot Dog Cart, but not as young as the ticket collector on the train. He wore thick black glasses over his dark blue—almost black—eyes and a light blue long-sleeved oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

Ryoko put a hand to her hip as Takeru ran up – more like wobbled – to the man. “You’re back already, Hito? Did you even go to work today?”

The man took off his glasses and acknowledged the boy next to him with a smile, and Takeru beamed, wrapping his arms around him. Ryoken couldn’t stomach the sight, so he turned away, arms crossed. Father would never let him get that close, but Father getting close to _him_ , even during those rare times that Ryoken didn’t want to be with him, was alright.

“Of course I did, Ryoko,” the man replied. “It’s a short day thanks to the town holiday this weekend.”

Ryoko grabbed the food from the stove and gradually started setting it on the table. “Whatever you say. I definitely had more of an eventful day than you then.”

The man raised an eyebrow, setting his phone down. He looked at Takeru, still hanging onto him. “You didn’t cause trouble for Mommy, did you, Takeru?”

“Nuh-uh!” said Takeru, and Ryoken put a hand to his head. How could he just lie like that? In front of his father? But the man seemed to believe it, so Ryoken cleared his throat, and Takeru gave him a look of “Don’t you dare,” Kiku softly giggling. He didn’t care, though. He wasn’t there to make friends.

“Takeru seemed to be causing a _lot_ of trouble for Ryoko-san, making a fuss over washing his face,” he said, sipping his water. Then, he rubbed his forehead. “And he whacked me in the forehead when I woke up this morning.”

Kiku’s giggling evolved into snickering as there were sounds of a cooking pot falling onto the tile floor. The man simply drank out of his mug, as if the reactions were business as usual. “Ryoko _-san_ , huh?” he muttered, a wide smile breaking out on his own face. Ryoken scratched his head, but Ryoko forcefully put her hands on his shoulders, a clearly forced smile plastered on her face. Ryoken thought he saw beads of sweat rolling down the side of her face, but that couldn’t have been right.

“Please. Just call me Ryoko, okay?” she pleaded through her fake smile, as if her life depended on it. Ryoken scratched his head. That was the polite way to address anyone older than him . . . right? What was this reaction all about? But he didn’t have time to think on that any longer before Takeru gave a loud huff that almost scared Ryoken out of his clothes.

“Tattletale!” cried Takeru with tears in his eyes, pointing to Ryoken, who merely shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t know why but seeing Takeru all excited for no reason gave him such joy. It was _way_ too easy to pick on him. The man grabbed Takeru by the underarms and sat him on his lap, Takeru, watery-eyed, still pouting.

“You can’t just call people names like that, Takeru,” the man said. Takeru didn’t respond. “But tell the truth now. Were you causing trouble today?” Ryoken didn’t understand why the man was asking that when he already told him what happened. But, he had no desire to voice his frustration. It wasn’t his place. It wasn’t his family. It wasn’t his home.

Takeru fiddled with his fingers, still not answering the question. The man’s facial expression changed: what were once softened features, trying to understand the situation, shifted into something more serious. It reminded Ryoken a little bit of Father.

“Takeru.” Something about the way the man said the boy’s name brought a chill down Ryoken’s spine. And it seemed to finally affect Takeru too, who frowned.

“Y-Yes, Daddy . . .” Takeru said finally, although soft, much like a wounded animal. Even Takeru’s rebellious nature had its limits. The air changed as Kiku sat down at the table and Ryoko set the table in silence. It wasn’t cheery or light, and Ryoken felt like taking a deep breath would make something in the house explode. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything? But it had been the right thing to do . . . right? And there was nothing wrong with getting Takeru what he deserved . . . right? He glanced over at Takeru, who refused to look him in the eye. Maybe Ryoken deserved that, but it was still rude.

As they sat at the table, Ryoko continuing to set the food, two steps of footsteps shuffled, breaking the silence. Ryoken turned to see a woman and a man older than Takeru’s father – Ryoko had called him Hito, but that had to have been a nickname—and his mother. The woman had light purple hair and wore a white apron on top of something gray and burnt orange and black that extended all the way to her ankles, and the man had short white hair and a short beard and wore a green polo and tan pants, more casual.

The woman with light purple hair looked around. “It’s quieter than usual this morning,” she said, crossing her arms. Kiku looked up and jumped down from her seat, hugging the older woman and the older man.

“Hi, Homura jii-chan, Homura baa-chan,” said Kiku cheerily, unaffected by the mood of the room. Ryoken raised an eyebrow. _Grandparents?_ And Kiku had addressed them so casually, so were she and Takeru related after all? The older woman smoothed Kiku’s hair and smiled.

“Good morning, Kiku,” she said. Looking around again, she asked, “Why’s everyone so gloomy?”

Kiku sighed. “Takeru got yelled at by Daddy because Ryoken –“ she pointed directly to him, “—tattled on him,” she said. Takeru winced. The older woman hummed and looked towards Ryoko setting the last of the breakfast dishes on the table. Ryoken noticed she was making a grand effort to not look at the new arrivals in the eye.

“Well, I say you’re doing a fantastic job so far with your experiment, Ryoko _-san_ ,” the older man chimed in. Ryoken detected a hint of sarcasm but hadn’t dwelled on that too long before he got distracted by what the older man said. Experiment? None of them looked like scientists of any sort, certainly not like Father and his coworkers. Ryoko, although flinching, didn’t say a word. She only washed her hands.

Takeru’s father cleared his throat. “Enough of this. I don’t want the sour mood to ruining breakfast.”

At that, Takeru jumped from his chair and walked away from the table. Both his parents called out to him, but he didn’t pay any attention as he walked out of the kitchen. Whenever Father called Ryoken, he was expected to respond and listen. Yet, the boy was comfortable going against his parents, without fear of punishment. How disgustingly disrespectful.

And yet, Ryoken felt pity. It reminded him of the rare moments Father, who’d occasionally get in these weird states when he worked, would scream at him. But Ryoken wasn’t about to chase after Takeru. That wasn’t his place.

“Well, uh, breakfast is served,” said Ryoko who sat at the table, plastered smile and all. Everyone started passing the dishes around the table, and Ryoken, without question, put everything on his plate. He didn’t know what any of it was, but it all smelled so good that his mouth started watering. He never got food like that living with Father.

As they ate, the grandfather cleared his throat. “So,” he said, “your name’s Ryoken?”

The boy had taken a huge bite of what he guessed was salmon, so he was unable to speak. He only nodded his head as the grandfather laughed, Ryoken pouting in response. Adults sure loved to laugh for the weirdest reasons.

“All the names possible, and this boy’s name just had to be close to mine,” said Ryoko, cutting up her breakfast into smaller pieces. “I think it’s fate that we’ve taken him in.”

Ryoken froze. _Fate_. Father had mentioned that word several times. It was Ryoken’s fate to do this, to do that. He had gotten tired of the word after a while, hearing over and over and over again. So, Ryoken decided to defy the so-called fate by running away. And yet, in this new place, it still managed to find him somehow, though a different fate perhaps.

“Oh, here we go . . .” Takeru’s father sighed, fumbling with a newspaper.

“Really!” Ryoko said, voice a slightly higher pitch. It was real easy to see where Takeru got his energy from.

“Or he’s just really lost,” the grandfather said as he sipped from his cup. “Like I said, I haven’t seen this boy before. And this town’s pretty small.”

Ryoken’s back stiffened, face rapidly losing color. They were definitely talking about him while he was asleep, and it definitely wasn’t good.

Takeru’s father nodded. “We should be focused on getting this boy back to where he’s from. What if his parents are looking for him?”

Ryoken’s lungs felt like they had no air. _No, I just wanted to get away!_

“And like _I_ said,” interjected Ryoko, “it doesn’t matter. He’s here, and he’s staying with us. Nobody just wanders in for a vacation, so we can’t be in a rush to kick him out.”

Kiku looked over at Ryoken, stiff as a board, trying to eat the food of his plate, several bits of the fish falling to the floor as the adults bickered. She reached out, touching his shoulder, and Ryoken and she made eye contact. Ryoken relaxed his shoulders, his breathing back to normal. Kiku then cleared her throat several times, catching the adults’ attention.

“My stomach is full, so I am going to bring some food to Takeru,” she said, jumping from her chair, gathering some of the brighter colored food. “Ryoken is coming with me.”

“I am?” asked Ryoken, but Kiku gave him a look that made him decide it was better if he didn’t question it. “Uh, thank you for the food!” Ryoken hastily added before following Kiku out of the kitchen. He heard Ryoko say something, but he and Kiku were already some distance away.

* * *

Ryoken and Kiku walked past the front door to a brighter, more sunshine-filled part of the house without a word. Maybe this house wasn’t bigger than where he was back on the island, but Ryoken certainly didn’t remember it being ever bright inside, much less this bright. The only time it was bright without the help of all the artificial lights was when he would sit outside among the flowers or watch Stardust Road at night with Father. Other than that, he was truly cut off from the natural light of the world.

This house, however, embraced the sun. Natural light.

As they walked on, Ryoken pondered Kiku’s action back in the kitchen. Takeru and he didn’t exactly get along, so why had she taken him with her to see him? And what had been the deal before that? So, he asked her, but Kiku only turned and smiled. It might’ve been Ryoken’s imagination, but the smile seemed pained.

“Only adults should be around for talk like that. Hearing all that talk makes you feel all serious, and I wanted to get away from that,” she said. “You looked like you wanted to get away too.”

Talk like that. Kiku was more in tune with others than Ryoken had thought. It was true that hearing about the possibility of being forced to return to Father settled very poorly in Ryoken’s stomach, unlike the delicious, homemade, not frozen for a week breakfast. But he didn’t think he made it _that_ obvious for someone younger than he was to notice that.

“I, uh, well . . . T-thank you,” Ryoken said. Looking away, he continued, “But, taking me to see Takeru might not be a good idea.”

“You can go back to your room then,” Kiku said, more bluntly than Ryoken had expected. He thought he felt something stab him in the chest. “Takeru would be more than happy to _not_ see you.”

Ryoken didn’t know what it was but hearing that made him change his mind completely. He even got a little frustrated. Takeru had the nerve to wake him from his sleep, but he wouldn’t let him barge in his room? Nuh-uh. That wasn’t going to do.

“Never mind. Forget I said anything,” muttered Ryoken, a light blush flaring on his cheeks, not without Kiku noticing and smiling.

At last, the two stopped at the front of a door heavily decorated with blue flowers with red and silver swirls, similar in pattern to the door to the room Ryoken had been staying in. With foil in hand, Kiku slowly opened the door.

“Takeru?” she whispered. Takeru, curled up in his bed, didn’t budge. Kiku sighed, walking towards him and sitting cross-legged by his back. “Takeru, I got you breakfast,” she said. Sniffing and a turn followed. Takeru stared at the foil in Kiku’s hand and slowly took it from her, sitting up in his bed. He opened the foil, the room filled with a fishy and grainy smell within seconds, and slowly ate it, taking several bites before swallowing.

Kiku smiled. “Better?”

But, Takeru still didn’t respond. She sighed.

“You can’t be upset like this every time you get yelled at, you know,” she said. “Older kids can handle it, so we need to do our best too.”

“Easy for you to say, Kiku,” mumbled Takeru in between bites. “You rarely get in trouble.” Then, Takeru shot what felt like daggers straight at Ryoken with his eyes, then went back to eating his breakfast. “Same with Pretty Boy over there, probably.”

 _Pretty Boy?!?!?!_ Ryoken’s eyebrow twitched. He knew things being called pretty was, for the most part, a good thing. But he just _knew_ Takeru was making fun of him. “My _name_ is Ryoken,” he said, crossing his arms.

“Not anymore,” said Takeru, munching on the last of the fish. “Your name is too close to Mommy’s and you’re not as nice as Mommy. You’re Pretty Boy now.”

“Takeru, you can’t just decide that,” Kiku spoke up.

“Why? He hit me with a pillow and got me in trouble. It’s what he gets,” Takeru said, although muffled because he was still chewing.

Ryoken sighed. Was _that_ what that was about? Childish. If he hadn’t had nowhere else to go, he’d leave the place at once. The adults didn’t seem to think anything of him, but, this sensitive boy had a _lot_ of problems, and for no reason. So much for wasting _his_ energy worrying about him.

“Well, _excuuuse_ me for telling the truth,” Ryoken said suddenly, not bothering to look at Takeru, who returned the favor. But, Kiku only stared as Ryoken shoved the door open and slammed it behind him. Takeru had been right – he _was_ in the middle weird category. She didn’t sense anything bad about him, but the air around him wasn’t good either. And the way he reacted to the adults trying to find his parents was weird too. If Kiku were far away from home, she would do anything to be back with her parents and her warm bed and her colorful mountain of stuffed animals.

“Takeru,” said Kiku.

“What is it, Kiku? I don wanna hear it if you’re gonna talk about Pretty Boy,” muttered Takeru.

“But, Takeru, something is _wrong_.”

The way she said it made Takeru sit up straight. Kiku was rarely worried. “Whaddaya mean?”

Kiku looked around, as if to make sure no one was around to hear, and, her voice a whisper, said, “The adults talked about finding Ryoken’s mommy and daddy, but Ryoken looked sick when they did.”

Takeru raised an eyebrow but then shook his head. “Mommy says that happens to all visitors to this town. Not used to the ellavaytion. He might be middle weird. That’s not weird.”

“He walked around with us before fine,” countered Kiku. “I watched. Only when they brought up finding his mommy and daddy did he look like he was gonna blow chunks.”

Takeru crossed his arms and closed his eyes. That _was_ strange. Did Pretty Boy having trouble sleeping have something to do with that too? It was all confusing. Pretty people like that were supposed to be simple. If Pretty Boy was staying for a while, then Takeru and Kiku needed to find out the full story. 

“Then that’s that!”

“That’s what?” asked Kiku, tilting her head.

“We gotta find out why Pretty Boy acts weird when his parents are brought up. Duh!” Takeru replied, beaming his big smile, Kiku returning a smile of her own. That’s what she liked about Takeru: when he smiled, you couldn’t help but smile with him.

“And how are we gonna do that? He talks as much as a log. No, scratch that. A log talks more than him,” Kiku said. Suddenly, she slammed a fist into her palm. “Wait! I got it!”

Takeru blinked slowly as Kiku’s eyes mischievously twinkled.

“We gotta get Ryoken in trouble.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruh, a prologue, chapter 1, AND chapter 2 in one month? That's gotta be a record. 😂 This one was a little bit hard to write tho, so any feedback is greatly appreciated 😔😂😂😂 I'm concerned with POV mainly (as in, does it feel like there's too much back and forth with whose eyes we're seeing the story from), so any comments on that would really help me a lot.
> 
> Nonetheless, I hope y'all liked this chapter! 💖 Thanks to everyone who's shown support for this very ambitious writing project so far \ .D. /


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow an update before the end of August who would've thunk. 😂 AND AN AUTHOR'S NOTE BEFORE THE CHAPTER BRU-
> 
> Okay, the only reason this A/N is before the chapter and not at the end as usual is purely aesthetic. If you read to the end, you'll understand. Let's just say this chapter is the calm before . . . an excessively massive storm, which is why it took me a hot sec to write (other than the fact that being a working adult sucks lmao). That's all I can say. 😅 If you read this, thank you so much. And if you read AND review this, thank you VERY much 💖 And thanks again for all the support of this very ambitious writing project!!

When it came to being trouble, Takeru was _very_ good at it. It didn’t take much for Ojii-chan or Daddy to yell at him. All he had to do was breathe wrong at the dinner table or complain about the food looking icky (whenever Daddy cooked – Mommy and his grandparents’ cooking was delicious!) and he’d _really_ get it. “Born to be a troublemaker, just like that _other_ grandfather of his,” Ojii-chan had said once. And he had said it so often that Takeru believed it and was even proud of it, even though Mommy and Obaa-chan would go against that. His other grandfather was _awesome_!

But when it came to getting _other_ people in trouble? _That_ was hard.

Kiku’s plan was simple and easy for Takeru to understand, even with his memory sticking issues: get Pretty Boy in trouble, and he’d talk about his parents to Takeru and Kiku. It made sense. When Takeru got in trouble with Ojii-chan or Daddy, it was always “Obaa-chan and Mommy would never treat me like that,” which would, of course, get him in more trouble if he was with Ojii-chan or Daddy. But, if he was with Kiku, he’d be met with understanding. Pretty Boy might be middle weird and older than him, but he’s still a kid. All kids whined about their parents at _some_ point.

At least, that’s what Takeru and Kiku had thought.

Trouble, however, flew past Pretty Boy, as if he had an invisible shield. It didn’t matter how many traps filled with building blocks and string Takeru and Kiku had set or how many times Takeru tried to annoy him to a boiling point, flicking pieces of food that Takeru would sneakily toss on the floor toward him during meals. Pretty Boy not only avoided the trouble, but he also had the same blank expression every time, as if his mind were somewhere else far, far away. At best, Pretty Boy winced or studied the random pieces of food that would stick to his clothes. But he, however, said nothing.

To make things worse, Takeru would get in _twice_ the amount of trouble. Mommy or Obaa-chan would say something, then Daddy or Ojii-chan would _really_ let Takeru have it. It stunk! Why did the pretty stranger from out of nowhere get better treated than he did? So Pretty Boy did what he was told. Big deal. Takeru’s the one living here! It wasn’t fair! Takeru knew he had to stick to the plan if he wanted to crack the invisible shield surrounding Pretty Boy, but he didn’t know how much longer he could keep at it before _he_ cracked.

After lunch one day, Takeru said, “I’m gonna see Kiku,” as he put on his red shoes. Jii-chan and Baa-chan were the only ones in the house – Mommy and Daddy were on a super special trip that they couldn’t say anymore about to Takeru – so they weren’t paying much attention. A mumbled “have a safe trip” was all the permission he needed. On his way out, he saw Pretty Boy studying a book. Sensing someone staring at him, Pretty Boy looked up, and he and Takeru made eye contact. Pretty Boy broke the stare first, going back to his book, and Takeru stuck his tongue out before walking out the door.

* * *

**Kamishirakawa Residence**

Upon arriving at the Kamishirakawa house, Takeru put his shoes next to Kiku’s, and walked past the living room, where the curtains had been drawn and Mama Kamishirakawa was leaning back in a rocking chair and a baby’s head, smoothed over with black hair, peeking out from a cloth, wrapped around her chest. Not wanting to ignore her, he stepped carefully.

“Good afternoon, Mama Kamishirakawa,” whispered Takeru, not wanting to disturb the baby from . . . whatever he was doing. The short dark blue-haired woman laughed, noticing Takeru’s befuddled expression, while Takeru looked up.

“Good afternoon, Takeru,” she said. “Benji would say hello too, but he has his mouth full at the moment.”

Takeru scratched his head. “Of what?”

“ _Takeru!”_ came a shrill but whispery voice that shocked Takeru’s body. “Don’t disturb Mama when she’s doing that!”

“But I wanted to say hello,” returned Takeru, pouting, not understanding why the one he came to see was pumping steam out her ears. Mama Kamishirakawa laughed at the sight as she smoothed the wayward strands on top of Takeru’s head.

“It’s alright, Kiku. Takeru wasn’t causing any trouble,” she said. Takeru grinned as Kiku sighed.

“Whatever you say, Mama.” Walking over and poking the head by Mama Kamishirakawa’s chest, she asked “Is Benji okay?”

“He’s a little hungrier today but fine. You don’t have to fuss over him,” Mama Kamishirakawa replied.

Takeru mischievously grinned. “Look at you, Kiku. Being such a _good_ big sister.”

Kiku’s face reddened as she turned away and huffed. Maybe she _hadn’t_ wanted to be a big sister to a small, squirming, wrinkly human who only cries and whimpers and pees and poops everywhere, and _maybe_ she had wanted a puppy or literally _any_ other animal instead. But Takeru didn’t need to tease her about it every. Single. Time.

Mama Kamishirakawa gently tugged away from her chest the baby who had fallen asleep so that his entire head was seen. Takeru stared intensely at him. He’d heard about the baby from Kiku and how small he was, but actually seeing the smaller than life human wrapped up like a loaf of bread was an experience Takeru felt super unprepared for. _He was so tiny!_ Yet, Takeru couldn’t help but to want to hold the bundle closer.

“Can I hold him?” asked Takeru.

“Only if you wash your hands first,” said Kiku, hands on her hips, before Mama Kamishirakawa had a chance to speak.

The mother laughed. “Kiku’s right, Takeru. We don’t want Benji getting sick, do we?” Takeru nodded his head and did as he was told. When he returned, Mama Kamishirakawa gently placed the sleeping babe in Takeru’s arms. Kiku had constantly whined to him how heavy Benji was, so Takeru was shocked with his lightness. He was no heavier than one of Takeru’s pillows—the softest, squishiest pillow. The baby’s big dark blue eyes stared at Takeru’s grayish-blue ones and reached out towards his face, and Takeru brought his forehead gently towards the baby’s hand. Takeru understood then why everyone, including Mommy and Obaa-chan, made such a fuss over the baby: he was way too cute!

“Come on, Takeru. You’re gonna make him like you more than me!” whined Kiku. Mama Kamishirakawa put a gentle hand on Kiku’s head, and Kiku relaxed. Takeru paid no attention, however, and continued to look at the baby who was smiling widely at him.

“You’d be a great big brother,” Mama Kamishirakawa said to Takeru. “My nephews can’t even hold the baby correctly.” At that, Kiku harrumphed.

“Takeru? A big brother? Impossible,” she said. “With all the trouble he causes Mama and Papa Homura _and_ Grandma and Grandpa Homura, another one joining him in that would be a disaster.”

Takeru pretended that physically hurt him, even if he had to admit some of it was true. He needed _someone_ to help him with pranks when Kiku’s busy. “Kiku!”

But Mama Kamishirakwa only shook her head. “We’ll see about that, Kiku,” she said, although in a faint voice. Takeru’s ears caught those words, however, and he looked wide-eyed at Mama Kamishirakawa, pulling the baby close to him.

“Whaddaya mean?” he asked, but Mama Kamishirakawa coughed and said nothing more. Another mystery Takeru wanted to solve. Getting Pretty Boy in trouble was first, though. Just thinking about that white and purple-haired goody two shoes irked him. Kiku sighed, breaking Takeru out of his daydream.

“Takeru and that boy Mama and Papa Homura took in always butt heads,” Kiku said. “A tinier person would make things worse.”

Mama Kamishirakawa sighed, taking the baby back from Takeru. “So that’s how it is, is it?” she asked. “Your mommy told me about him. He doesn’t sound like a bad child.”

Scoffing, Takeru crossed his arms. It was a reaction he expected, as the only news she gets about the Homura family is from Mommy. “Yeah, he’s _real_ nice to Mommy, Daddy, Obaa-chan, and Ojii-chan. An angel who can do no wrong. But Pretty Boy is super mean to me. Always a tattletale when I try to play with him,” muttered Takeru. “He ain’t no fun. He ain’t no angel. He’s a phony. A meaniehead phony.”

Kiku giggled as Mama Kamishirakawa rubbed her forehead.

“Takeru, I know having someone else in the house getting a lot of attention might be hard,” she said, “but if you just gave him a chance—”

“I dun wanna. He doesn’t deserve it.,” Takeru said, crossing his arms. And the more Takeru kept thinking about _that_ boy, the more annoyed he got and the more he decided Pretty Boy didn’t deserve chances. Forget trying to get him to talk. Takeru wanted him _gone_. Before Takeru’s mind became inflamed with such irritated thoughts, Kiku snatched him by the wrist and dragged him away from Mama Kamishirakawa.

“K-Kiku, what are you doing?!” whined Takeru. Kiku only huffed, however, as she pulled him to her room and closed the door, leaving a very confused Takeru to think through what had just happened. Kiku usually wasn’t so . . . so . . . what was the word? Forceful? Yeah, forceful. Takeru massaged his wrist, still throbbing from how hard Kiku had squeezed it.

“What’s the big idea, Kiku?” asked Takeru, pouting.

“Right back at you,” Kiku said. “You _never_ talk back to Mama.”

Takeru took a deep breath. That was true. Whenever Takeru got in bigger trouble than usual, he’d escape to the Kamishirakawa house to let all his frustrations out to Mama Kamishirakawa, and she would nod, smooth the top of his head to comfort him, and offer advice, advice Takeru heard, but following through was a different story. But he’d never dream of openly talking back or even talking back in his head. She was too nice. Yet, her putting Pretty Boy in such a good light made his stomach upset. And he took it out on her. And the more he thought about it, the queasier he became.

“I. I’m sorry.” He meant it too.

“Not to _me_ , Takeru,” said Kiku. “Save it for Mama. Is there something wrong though? Why did you come over?”

Takeru fiddled with his fingers. “Your plan to get Pretty Boy to talk. It’s getting _me_ in more trouble. I don’t think I can do it anymore.”

Kiku looked at Takeru intently before sitting on her stuffed animal paradise of a bed. Not only did Takeru usually not talk back to Mama, he never talked against her top-notch, state of the art plans. It was always “That’s a great idea, Kiku!” or Takeru went along without question. Something was going on in the Homura household that Kiku had failed to think of before coming up with it. Or quite possibly there was something Takeru was keeping from _her_. Either way, something was wrong, and Kiku would eat seaweed before she let one of her great plans turn to dust.

“Okay,” said Kiku after some thought, “we gotta try something else.”

Takeru’s expression didn’t change, and Kiku felt as if someone dropped her. “Something else?”

Shaking off the sinking feeling and crossing her arms and legs, Kiku nodded. “Yeah, something else! Unless,” she smirked, “you want to chicken out?” But the challenge had no effect on Takeru who only stared at the window, eyes lacking the usual mischievous glint that Kiku had always liked. Something was _definitely_ bothering him.

“Takeru?” she changed her tone, catching his attention. For a moment, Takeru stared at her before shaking his head.

“Sorry, Kiku. I have to go now,” he said. “Tell Papa Kamishirakawa I said hi.”

“Uh-Um, okay. Be careful,” she said. Takeru was in one of his weird moods, and Kiku knew better than to try to talk to him then. It was so silent that when Takeru closed the door and the force knocked Kiku’s pink stuffed bear to the ground, the _thump_ sounded especially loudly. She wondered then if she should say something to Mama? Or Mama Homura? Takeru being moody was one thing, but something was _really_ off this time around. It was as if the strange vibes Ryoken had took over Takeru. Sure, Takeru would get in moods, but he was more talkative. But this time around . . . he was too quiet.

“Or I just need a nap!” Kiku declared to her stuffed animal companions. Thinking no more of the strangeness, Kiku ruffled her pillow and laid down.

* * *

**Homura Residence**

When Takeru walked through the door, it was though he never left. Mommy and Daddy were still out, Obaa-chan and Ojii-chan were still in the kitchen, and _he_ was still there, reading some book. Unlike earlier, Takeru chose not to engage him. Takeru was peeved enough as it was, and any talking with him or any sort of sign that he noticed him would make it so much worse.

But, unfortunately, Takeru wasn’t allowed to walk by without interacting with him. He was about to go to the hallway where Takeru’s and _his_ rooms were when _his_ snooty, unconcerned, know-it-all voice called out his name: “Takeru.” Takeru took several large swallows, clenching and unclenching his fists, before he forced his head to look at him.

Pretty Boy’s annoyingly icy blue eyes and his were locked for what was forever before Pretty Boy returned to his book. “Homura obaa-chan told me to tell you dinner will be soon,” he said, not even looking at him. “Don’t be late.”

Oh, he _really_ shouldn’t have added that last part. Takeru was _never_ late for mealtime. He was even earlier than Pretty Boy most times anyway! But, instead of correcting him, Takeru bit his tongue – harder than anticipated – and zoomed past him. As much as he wanted to let him _really_ have it, he’d get in big trouble with his grandparents, who would then tell Mommy and Daddy. Then, he’d _really_ get in trouble. Because Pretty Boy, so prim, proper, and orderly, could _never_ be wrong, even when he was. It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t Mommy and Daddy find his parents already? What was taking so long?

 _Just give him a chance, Takeru_. Mama Kamishirakawa’s sweet, understanding voice echoed in his mind. But, Takeru shook his head, blood boiling. He gave him that chance, and Pretty Boy crumpled it up in a ball and threw it back at him, square in the face. Ryoken didn’t owe him anything, and he owed him nothing. Pretty Boy wanted nothing to do with him, so he’ll have nothing to do with him or anyone else who wanted to take his side.

Takeru slammed the door to his room shut, noise reverberating through the walls.

* * *

Ten minutes had passed. Twenty. Thirty. An hour. And by the hour, Ryoko-san and Hisahito-san had returned from their trip, and the food was getting ice cold. Ryoken clicked his tongue. He had done what he was asked by Homura obaa-chan: he had told Takeru dinner was _soon_. So, why wasn’t the little firecracker at the table yet? Ryoken clutched his stomach, hurting from hunger. He wanted to eat so bad. But, thanks to the Homura “no one eats until everyone’s at the table” rule, a rule that would be foreign back at Father’s, he couldn’t.

Ryoko-san looked at the table, frowning. “I told you guys you could have dinner without us. Why’s the food still here?”

A low, drawn-out sigh from Homura ojii-chan was the answer, and Ryoken simply stared at his green vegetable and fish-filled plate, wanting nothing more than to gobble it with his bare hands. Ryoko looked at the seats in turn, staring especially at the empty bamboo chair directly across Ryoken, her expression turning more sour.

“Where’s Takeru?”

The ill-fated question. Ryoken’s stomach dropped to the floor. He opened his mouth to speak, but it was so dry, nothing came out. To his great fortune, however, Homura obaa-chan replied for him: “I had asked Ryoken to tell Takeru dinner was ready. Ryoken told me he did tell him. But, Takeru still hasn’t shown.”

Hisahito-san sat at the table, unconcerned by the whole affair. “Another one of his tantrums,” he said, grabbing an empty plate from the side table. “Give him until his bedtime. Then, he’ll come clamoring for food. Nothing to be stressed about, and no use starving the rest of us.”

Ryoken readily agreed with Hisahito-san, as he was more than ready to eat, but Ryoko wasn’t about the let it go, if her widened eyes and loud “Huh?!?!” were any indication. Ryoken looked longingly at his food, hoping he’d at least get to eat it sometime before he had to go to sleep himself. He didn’t care if it was cold at that point.

“How could you _say_ that?” asked Ryoko, her voice high-pitched, and Ryoken’s ears rang. “We always eat together, Hito. That’s the family rule –”

“—which was broken when Ryoken got here, remember?” Hisahito-san replied, not a care given. “Surely your short-term memory isn’t _that_ bad, Ryoko. It’s fine to break the rule every once in a while.” Ryoken nodded fervently, even though he had no idea what the two of them were talking about. He really wanted to eat.

But Ryoko slammed her palms on the table, and Ryoken jumped nearly out of his skin from the clanking glasses and china plates. The noise temporarily brought him back to the day he ran away from home. His muscles tensed, breathing halted. “Takeru is _our_ son. And no child of ours is going hungry or will _ever_ go hungry in this house.”

Hisahito-san glanced over at Homura obaa-chan and ojii-chan, lips pursed. Even Ryoken could tell from their worried expressions that the outburst was unusual side. It'd been only two weeks, but while Ryoko did have her energetic moments, she was calm, supportive. Ryoken could go to her for _anything_ , and she’d listen without judgment, without dismissing his concerns. But, as Ryoko was then, Ryoken knew it was best to keep his mouth shut. He didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire.

“I was only kidding,” Hisahito-san said, clearly trying to save himself.

“If we're going to talk about my memory, then I don’t recall you having a poor taste in jokes,” Ryoko said, her voice chilled as she stared her husband down. Homura obaa-chan and Homura ojii-chan glanced over at a frozen in fear Ryoken, Homura obaa-chan mouthing an apology. Then, Homura ojii-chan cleared his throat several times.

“Ryoko,” he said, “we understand how you feel. We'll make sure Takeru gets fed before he sleeps. But we can't ignore Ryoken-kun here either. This poor boy has been waiting and waiting.” Homura ojii-chan fixed his attention on Ryoken. “You must be starving, right?”

Ryoken hadn’t wanted to seem too eager, but his nodding speed betrayed him. His body wasn't listening to his mind anymore. Homura jii-chan and Homura obaa-chan, however, only laughed in a way that melted the tension built up in Ryoken's shoulders. If it weren't for their insistence on finding his supposed parents, Ryoken dared to say being with the Homuras was the most at home he's ever felt, even more so than when he was in the flowers back at Father's. These people were warm, inviting, _safe_.

Homura ojii-chan crossed his arms. “And there you have it. Let the poor boy eat.”

Ryoko sighed as she took a seat, clutching her stomach, which caught Ryoken's attention, but he thought nothing more of it when she put food on her plate. “Someone better be sure to bring Takeru food then or heads are rolling,” she said, cutting up the fish with one of the sharper knives.

Ryoken, at first, wasn’t sure if he should volunteer. His previous interactions with the other boy who wanted nothing to do with him, besides getting on all of Ryoken’s nerves, hadn’t been the most pleasant. The last interaction, with Ryoken talking with the boy as normally as possible, had been nothing short of a failure. But there was something about Takeru’s hotheadedness and eager disobedience which fascinated while also purely disgusted Ryoken. How could one person, a person who had no interest in following the rules, make him, a rule follower, feel two extremes _at the same time_? It was a question that bothered him the last few days.

And to find out, he’d try as many times as it took.

“I. I’ll do it,” Ryoken spoke up, but the adults were chattering so loudly, they hadn’t heard his quiet voice. If only God, Buddha, or whatever supernatural being had put him on the planet had given Ryoken a louder voice so Ryoken didn’t have to repeat himself. He hated doing that. But he wasn’t backing down. “I’ll do it!” he said again, loud enough for the adults to stop and stare at him. Ryoken’s cheeks turned hot, like he’d been out in the sun for a long time. That had been one of the rules, hadn’t it? No shouting at the table? Oh _no_. Ryoken had messed up _big_ time.

Neither Hisahito-san nor Ryoko, however, commented on his volume. Instead, the two simply looked at each other and smiled. Ryoko grabbed one of the bread plates and put smaller pieces of fish as well as some of the mountain yams and bamboo shoots, handing the finished product to Ryoken. He was so hungry, he could’ve eaten the plate then and there. _That would show Takeru!_ But that wasn’t worth risking Ryoko’s wrath over, though, so he didn’t.

“For Takeru,” said Ryoko. She threw an apologetic, tired smile. “Thanks for doing this.”

Thanks? For doing what he’d said he’d do? That’d never happened before. Not even when he was occasionally allowed to help Father or Dr. Genome with research. The pit of Ryoken’s stomach felt fuzzy, his cheeks still a light pink.

“Y-You’re welcome,” he got out, somehow, miraculously. He leaned back in his chair. “I just hope he takes it. He better.” _Shoot_ , did he say that _out loud_? Ryoken sat up. He hadn’t meant to, but the adults chuckled and carried on as if he had said the funniest thing ever. Adults’ sense of humor was strange indeed.

The sun had set on the horizon, and the stars and the barely visible moon were in view on the fading light blue and incoming dark blue sky. After eating his fill and thanking Homura obaa-chan for the food, Ryoken took the plate for Takeru and went to his room. He stopped in front of the door with the blue flowers with the red and silver swirls, the door larger than life than before. What was Ryoken nervous for? It was just a door. But he quickly realized it wasn’t the door itself he was uneasy about. It was what – _who_ – was on the other side of the door.

Had it not been so late, he would go back to the dining room and ask either Ryoko or Hirohito-san to be with him. Heck, even Kiku would be an even better companion. At least Kiku and Takeru had been friends for a while, so Kiku would know how to deal with him. But she had her own family, and Ryoken chose to run away from the people closest to family he had. Ryoken’s complex feelings about Takeru, or what confused him about him anyway, were his responsibility and his alone. He wasn’t about to drag anyone into his heart’s messy affairs.

 _You ran from home because you were scared. Yet, here you are, scared to open a door in a stranger’s house._ Ryoken’s hand stopped short of the handle, legs trembling in his dark blue pants. Why? Why was he afraid? What was he afraid of? He ran away so he wouldn’t feel so bogged down, so trapped, so terrified. Why? Why? _Why?_ The food in his hands was as heavy as a brick, a brick he wanted no more than to drop and run away from. That would be breaking his word to Ryoko though, wouldn’t it? He couldn’t do that. She had done so much good for him when he hadn’t deserved it. 

And, as much as he was tempted to be, he wasn’t—he couldn’t be—the disobedient child of the two.

Maybe. Maybe that was it. While Takeru was a handful in many ways, he had always shown up for mealtime. For him to skip a meal, something was off, way off, and Ryoken wasn’t sure if he wanted to be the one to discover what that something was. But, he had to keep his word to Ryoko. 

Determined, Ryoken willed his hand to reach out and pull the door open. What he saw was . . .


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not quite sure how to tag this but uhhhhhhhh
> 
> tw: child-to-child violence, adult-to-child violence (implied). It's not grotesque descriptions or anything, BUT in the event you want to avoid reading it, the section w/ the not so rosy content starts w/ "Like a red flash" and ends with "'Takeru, I-' Ryoken said'. that is all. 😔

A mess.

Ryoken stared, his mouth hanging open. Clothes, toys, thin white paper, bright-colored photos everywhere. Bed terribly unmade. Scuff marks all over the walls. Only the curtain for a mid-size window was left untouched by the tornado that had whirled through. Yet, even with all the destruction, the one he’s looking for was nowhere to be found.

“What in the world happened?” muttered Ryoken, Takeru’s food in hand, as he stepped over a black toy motorcycle. And, even more importantly, with such devastation and with the walls being thin enough to hear every conversation, every movement, _how_ could Ryoken have _not_ heard any of it? He could get carried away with his reading, yes, but not to the point where he couldn’t hear an entire room _being ripped apart_. 

As he walked farther, however, he heard a voice hiss, “Go away!” and stopped in his tracks. That was Takeru’s voice. Yet, when Ryoken scanned the room, he still couldn’t find the little firecracker. It was far from the biggest space in the house, so finding Takeru should not have been that difficult. So, instead of obeying the voice, he stepped in more, his feet dodging the debris.

“Takeru, this is no time for hide and seek,” said Ryoken. “We had dinner without you, you know.”

A laugh, a laugh that sounded . . . like a struggle. “I know. I don’t care.”

Ryoken searched desperately for the source of the voice, food in his hand, but his eyes were unable to find the red and white locks from in the chaos. It’s insulting enough that Ryoken was terrible at those search-for-the-hidden-object puzzle books Father always gave him. Having to do one in real life made him more on edge. He wanted to hand the food Takeru personally, since the floor germs made leaving it there unsafe. Maybe he and Takeru didn’t get along, maybe _he_ was in a sour mood because searching for things annoyed him, but he wasn’t about to give him food poisoning. He needed to find him.

“You might not care, but Ryoko does,” said Ryoken, icy blue eyes scanning the room. “She put up a fight for you.”

No reply. Only muffled shuffling, as if something were trapped. Then silence again. That meant Takeru was inside something! Ryoken glanced around again and noticed a tall, dark brown piece of furniture with drawers at the bottom, doors at the top – a closet – by where the bed was, the only place he hadn’t looked. He tiptoed over the paper and fallen photographs to the closet, the now-cold food clutched in his hand.

Ryoken sighed. “Takeru, I know it’s you in there. Stop being ridiculous and come out of there.”

Still no reply. Ryoken’s heartrate accelerated. Takeru was _never_ this quiet, and as much as he didn’t want to admit, Ryoken was afraid. Why was Takeru acting like this? Why was he making it so difficult? He _was_ a problem child, but nowhere near the way he was acting. There was one thing left to do.

“Fine. If you want to be so _stubborn_ , Takeru,” said Ryoken, his sharp tongue getting the better of him, “then you can just stay there and go hungry, even after all your mother did to make sure you didn’t. No wonder your father and your grandfather can’t stand you.”

The one thing Ryoken should’ve never, ever, ever, _ever_ said.

Like a red flash, in sync with the bright sudden lightning storm outside, Takeru leapt from the closet, the door slamming open, and grabbed Ryoken by the neck, tightening his hold with each second, which forced Ryoken to drop the food he had for him. For such a small five year old, Takeru was a physical force to be reckoned with. And, for such a small five year old, Takeru had an unbelievable amount of rage. So much so, words didn’t come out. He only snarled and wouldn’t let Ryoken free.

“Takeru . . .” Ryoken managed to breathe. “Takeru, stop . . .”

But Takeru was beyond listening, beyond understanding. Instinct and irrationality had taken over, as Ryoken could see in Takeru’s sharp eyes, eyes empty of the uncertainty, the lightheartedness, the playfulness he’d come to know and had taken for granted. They were eyes that gave mercy to no one, and Ryoken’s heart pounded in his chest, lungs desperate for air. It was a sensation all too familiar for him, as he’d felt the same way with _that_ nightmare. He couldn’t let this end the way _that_ had. He couldn’t, he couldn’t, he _couldn’t_ . . .

* * *

_All kids possessed a rebellious spirit, and the bright ice blue-eyed five-year-old boy Kogami Ryoken was no different. Before he pledged to always follow the rules Father and his associates had set, there was an incident that set him on the path of rule-following, of obeying destiny. It was an incident Ryoken had tried to forget, but without success._

_It had been a day like any other: Ryoken learned how to read more complicated words with Dr. Taki and developed his math skills further with Dr. Aso. He finished both sessions early that day, as he was a super-fast learner, so, of course, Ryoken did what any five year old did in their spare time: go to Father. Father hadn’t minded Ryoken’s visits, always welcoming him with a pat on the head and a smile. “Good job, Ryoken,” he’d say, and Ryoken would beam at the praise, his face flushed with happiness._

_But, that day, Father did mind the visit. And Ryoken had noticed something had been wrong too late._

”Father, I’m done, I’m done!” _said the young boy cheerfully, running up to Father. But, instead of a smile and a “Good job, Ryoken,” a scowl and a hostile stare welcomed Ryoken. Father angrily tossed his pen as Ryoken took a step backwards, breathing stopped, the pen barely missing his face._

”Ryoken, what did I tell you about disturbing me when I’m working?!” _Father had screamed at him, and Ryoken felt pins and needles stab every part of his skin. Father had said something to him before, but Ryoken hadn’t remembered. He still hadn’t remembered, even at that moment, what was said, but it didn’t matter. What's the big deal? Ryoken couldn’t remember_ everything _at once. And he had said that to Father, annoyance in his voice._

_And that made Father get up from his chair, stomping closer and closer to Ryoken as he stepped farther backwards until his back hit the wall, nowhere to hide, nowhere to turn, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. But, Father, in his rage, kept walking towards him. And that was when . . ._

* * *

He slapped him.

With the back of his right hand and arm, Ryoken slapped Takeru’s face, a force so strong, it knocked the smaller boy off him, Takeru’s body meeting the wall with a _thud_ , and thunder clapped outside at the same time. Takeru broke free from his rage-induced trance and yelped, the impact shaking the closet, and shocking his small body. Ryoken, brought back to the present and still trying to catch his breath, stared at his hand. Realizing what he had just done, his eyes widened, hand shaking.

“No . . . no, no, no, _no_ . . .” muttered Ryoken, his voice breaking, throat burning. He. He really did hit Takeru. While Takeru could be a pain in the butt, that had been the _last_ thing he deserved. Fear having a tight hold on all his senses, Ryoken stared at Takeru, struggling to get up from the impact, a light pink mark the size of the back of Ryoken’s hand plastered on his cheek. He had enough energy to look back at other boy, his eyes no longer strange and piercing, but hurt and confused. Takeru touched the side of his face, wincing as he did so, but not breaking his gaze. Every muscle in Ryoken’s body, every nerve, every emotion told Ryoken to look away. He couldn’t bear to see Takeru so torn, so beat up like that, because of _him_. But he couldn’t. It would worsen things.

Takeru rolled to where he could sit up, back against the wall, then he stared at Ryoken, a . . . smile on his face? Was Ryoken imagining things? Was the lightning outside playing tricks on hm?

“Takeru, I–” Ryoken finally said, stepping towards the boy. A gruff voice, however, boomed, “That’s _enough_ , Ryoken.” Ryoken turned quickly and saw Hisahito-san and Ryoko, with tears streaming faster than a waterfall, standing at the door. Ryoken’s heart stopped. No doubt that they saw what he had done to their son.

_This is what you get for running away, Ryoken. Away from your destiny. Away from what the stars had set. Forget it, forget it all. Forget this foolishness. Go back to Father. You can only hurt others. It’s in your blood._

As Ryoken wrestled with the violent intrusive thoughts and his father’s booming voice in his head, Ryoko surged past him towards Takeru, scooping him up in her arms. Takeru, still dazed, lolled his head against her chest, the warmth, the stress of the night’s events lulling him deeper into sleep. Tears clung to the corners of his closed eyes and his tired smile got smaller as Ryoko embraced him tight with kisses on the cheek, “I love you,” and tear-soaked apologies.

The sight made Ryoken’s stomach churn, so he faced the door, not looking anywhere else but the ground. The sound of footsteps on the photo-filled floor came closer until Ryoken saw Hisahito-san’s legs in front of him. Ryoken braced himself by closing his eyes so hard, his head hurt. An eye for an eye, Father would always tell him. But, instead of the expected slap to the face, a sharp blow of air hit his face instead, Hisahito-san’s hand centimeters from his face. Ryoken brought his head up and forced himself to meet Hisahito-san’s gaze, eyes darkened, expression serious. All the hairs on Ryoken’s arms and the back of his neck stood up

“If my wife and child weren’t here, you know what would happen, right?” he asked. “You know better than this, Ryoken.” Ryoken could only nod, too terrified to speak or cry, palms clammy. Hisahito-san really reminded him of Father when he got angry, except not as eager to strike or lash out. And he got angry when his son was threatened, even though the little firecracker had talked otherwise. Ryoken wasn’t sure at that moment if the same could be said for Father about him.

But Hisahito-san was right. Ryoken _had_ known better. There were better ways of self-defense, and Ryoken had known that. And yet, hadn’t he wanted to be like Father? Wasn’t that how Father did things? Then, why was how Father would do things making things worse?

An even bigger question: What was it about the Homura family that made Ryoken question _all_ he’s ever known?

* * *

Ryoko stood up, Takeru secure and asleep in one arm, wiping her nose with her sleeve on the other. Eyeing the food she had given to Ryoken for Takeru, she picked it up. She would have to heat it up for Takeru later. First, Takeru needed first aid and a bath. Normally, it would be dinner first, then the bath. But rules were all out the window that night, and Ryoko didn’t know how much more of it she could take.

She’d have to give her parents a call later, since it was a lot for one night and she desperately needed to unload because her in-laws wouldn’t understand. But, first, she had to deal with the aftermath of her mistake. She had been _so_ certain Ryoken and Takeru would get along fine while she and Hito searched for hints about Ryoken’s parents’ whereabouts. While Takeru did have Kiku, having a friend who was a boy too was crucial.

So much for that.

Quite some time had passed since Ryoken had left the dinner table to give the food to Takeru, and only through Ryoko’s persistence and concern did Hito agree they should check up on the two of them. If Ryoken wasn’t planning to return to the table, he would’ve politely said, “I’m going to bed,” or something of the sort. So Ryoko and Hito went to check on the two of them, not imagining in their wildest dreams they’d see what they’d seen.

Ryoko couldn’t help but think about where she and Hito went wrong. What could they have done to diminish the raging animosity between Ryoken and Takeru? What could they have done so that didn’t happen?

What.

_What._

_What…...?_

But it was no use thinking on the past, on the would’ves, could’ves, should’ves. The only way was forward. And right then, Ryoko’s primary concern was her boy’s safety and health. Her precious boy. Her firecracker. Her sunshine.

Her little miracle.

It’d be too much to kick Ryoken out, as much as Ryoko’s in-laws would suggest. That’d solve nothing. Several things were clear, however: Ryoken and Takeru couldn’t be near each other, let alone together, and, even in her hysterical state, she knew Ryoken couldn’t return to his parents. No child in a loving home was capable of being that violent with another child.

And that also meant she and Hito had work to do.

Ryoko pulled herself together enough to look at Ryoken’s icy blue eyes: scared, confused, uncertain. And instead anger or hurt for attacking her child, her precious Takeru, she loved him as if he were her own. And for as long as he needed, he would be.

“Ryoken,” she said, voice trembling, “I-we won’t kick you out for this. We know you didn’t mean to do that to Takeru.”

Ryoken remained silent as he nodded, eyes shut tight, tears in the corner of his eyes.

“But, as long as you’re here,” said Ryoko, trying to regain her composure, but her voice betrayed her, “you can’t-you need to stay away from Takeru. _Please_.” Turning her attention to Hito, she said, “I’ll give Takeru his bath first. Ryoken can take his after.”

With that, Hito nodded, Ryoko walked out of the room, Takeru fast asleep in her arms.

* * *

_“You need to stay away from Takeru.”_

That should’ve been great news for Ryoken. He should’ve felt a massive weight lifted and tossed from his shoulders, the constant pressure in his chest no more than a distant memory. He should’ve been celebrating being forbidden to see the source of his confusion, his doubt. He should’ve been able to breathe again. Ever since that day Takeru made it clear Ryoken could never win his favor, it was all he wanted. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. Yet, when Ryoko said that, Ryoken only felt intense hurt, as though he’d been slapped himself.

_Why?_

As Ryoken struggled with his feelings, Hisahito-san straightened Takeru’s room, making separate piles for the fallen pictures, the scattered toys, and the pieces of paper. The room, in barely any time at all, felt as though nothing had happened in the last hour. Putting a firm hand on Ryoken’s shoulder, Ryoken nearly jumping out of his skin in the process, Hisahito-san grimaced.

“You’re a smart boy, so you know this, but Takeru’s room is also off-limits, even when he’s not there. You understand, don’t you?” 

Ryoken nodded his head slightly, enough to acknowledge he was being spoken to, badly wishing this terrible night could be over. Shrugging his shoulders and walking towards the door, he said, “Tell Ryoko she doesn’t have to worry about my bath.” Remembering his manners, he added, “Please.”

“Taking one tomorrow?”

“Uh huh. Good night, Hisahito-san.”

“Have a good night, Ryoken.”

Ryoken wasn’t sure how much Hisahito-san really meant that.

* * *

After tucking in a very sleepy Takeru into his bed and checking on Ryoken, Ryoko put on her bright pink shawl and headed towards the freshly rained-on backyard, the air cold on her tearstained face. No way was she going to let her in-laws see her in such a state. The night was a disaster as it was. She whipped out her phone and tapped the number for her parents’ house. Dad and Mom liked going to bed at weird hours, so she’d hoped at least one of them would pick up.

_Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzzzzzz._

The other side rung so long, Ryoko was close to giving up on the call entirely, resigning to call them later that week. Just before the last ring closed out, however, a _*click*_ sounded, followed by shuffling, something falling in the background, and a “WHERE’S MY _WALKER_?” If Ryoko’s emotions weren’t at an extreme, she’d fall over _herself_ from laughing so hard. She settled for a small laugh.

“Dad?” she projected her voice as quietly as she could, smothering her laugh. “Dad, are you there?”

More shuffling and no indication that he heard her. Ryoko sighed. Why did calling her parents have to be a dramatic production every time? No wonder Hito was insistent on living with _his_ parents and not hers. But, Ryoko wouldn’t have it any other way. At least her parents didn’t act like they were above everything.

“Oh Great Father, your beloved daughter requests your assistance,” said Ryoko, loud as she could, her face flushed. She hadn’t said that since she was about Takeru’s age. Even worse, that seemed to have finally gotten Papa’s attention. More shuffling, clanking, and loud button pressing, a “Hello?!” sounded from the other side. “Is that you, Ryoko?”

“No one else calls you Father,” said Ryoko, still not believing _that_ had gotten Dad’s attention. “Yes, it’s me.”

More shuffling and a _whoosh_ later, the voice returned clearer. “Okay, I’ve given up on finding the walker. Sorry ‘bout that. Unusual for you to call this late, though? And so early in the week!”

Ryoko tightened the phone against her ear. Weekends were usually her “call Mom and Dad” days, so, yeah, it _was_ unusual. But, with all she went through that night, it couldn’t wait. She tried to hold back a sob, but it still came through as she said, “Yeah, I guess.” A heavy silence followed. Only a sizzling frying pan could be heard on one side, crickets chirping on the other. 

“Ryoko . . . what _happened_?” Dad’s voice softened. The way he asked – so caring, understanding, non-judgmental — broke through Ryoko’s last line of emotional defense, the tears pouring for the thousandth time that night. Telling him what went on with Takeru and Ryoken, she wasn’t sure if words were coming out of her mouth as opposed to incoherent sobs, but Dad only listened silently, an occasional muted hum being the only indicators he was listening.

After a while, Ryoko finished recounting, her face cooler from the slight breeze brushing over her freshly tear-stained face. She felt so exhausted, the emotional toll of the night on top of the uncomfortable news she’d gotten at the doctor’s office earlier that day finally getting to her. At least, though, she had told someone, someone she trusted dearly—temporary memory relapses and all.

The other side of the call was quiet, and for a few seconds, Ryoko thought Dad had fallen asleep listening. It wouldn’t have been the first time, especially since he’s notorious for such when Takeru talks with him. Before she said something to confirm, Dad only said, “Ryoko.”

Ryoko’s eyes started to water again. “Yes, Dad?”

“You’re doing a good job.” Ryoko could hear the smile in his voice. “It ain’t easy taking care of kids, much less two rascals like them. ‘specially when it feels like the ones who’re _supposed_ to help make it worse.”

Ryoko could sense the double meaning in those words. “Dad—”

He continued, “Just make sure those other two buffoon guys you’re living with pull their weight. Pullin’ out the ‘I’m the man of the house’ card to lord it over those kids doesn’t count.”

Ryoko sighed, knowing where that was headed. Dad loved to go on those kinds of tangents, especially ever since she moved in with Hito and his parents. “I got it, I got it,” she said. “I have to go now, okay? I’ll talk with you soon. Thanks for listening.”

“Anything for my daughter,” he replied. “Take care of yourself, okay? Don't do anything reckless.”

Ryoko slowly rubbed her stomach, laughing. “I can't do anything reckless, even if I wanted to. Bye now.”

“Bye!”

A click signaled the end of the conversation. Ryoko sighed as she pulled the pink shawl closer, the wind almost dragging it along, and made her way back inside. The house was eerily quiet, with everyone settled in their rooms for the night. It’s time she did the same. On her way to her and Hito’s room, she checked Takeru’s room first, then Ryoken’s. When she saw they were asleep, she made it to her destination to find her husband passed out on the bed as well. Bunch of logs, all of them.

She couldn’t complain, though. Compared to the chaos from earlier, it was more than welcome.

Ryoko put the shawl on a chair, deciding she’d call out sick from work tomorrow (they’d understand anyway), and laid down on the cool side of the mattress, snuggling against Hito, who unconsciously put an arm around her, for warmth.

At least her sleep was peaceful that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *insert "Takeru came out of the closet" joke here*
> 
> YEAH SO HOW WE FEELIN', Y'ALL? If this chapter was a little hard to emotionally digest, you can be rest assured I was in emotional agony writing this, so you're not alone lmao. I didn't want to do this to my bois or Ryoko but *dramatic hand gesture* Plot(tm) demands it. This ain't even the most heart wrenching chapter in this installment, believe it or not. MORE FUN WHERE THAT CAME FROM. 😅😭 YAY. 
> 
> As usual, kudos and/or reviews greatly appreciated. Or emotional support for the author would be great too alsdkflaksdjf. Thanks for reading!! 💕


	6. Chapter 6

**Kamishirakawa Residence**

After putting the finishing touches on her ponytail and tightening her green and white polka dot ribbon, Kiku admired herself in the mirror one last time and smiled. The day that she would prove once and for all that she was faster than Takeru in a race was finally here. He was gonna learn better than to challenge her in anything sportsy. She had broken in her new pink athletic shoes over the last month to prepare.

When Kiku walked to the front door, however, Mama, with Benji in her arms, saw her and called out, “Kiku?”

Kiku turned around. “Yes, Mama?”

“Where are you going?”

Kiku raised an eyebrow. Where else would she be going if Mama hadn’t asked her to go to the store?

“To see Takeru? We’re gonna race today,” she said.

Mama sighed and shook her head, confusing Kiku even more. “Kiku, I’m afraid you can’t see Takeru today. Or anytime soon.”

“Huh?!?!” Benji cooed at the commotion, and Mama made a shushing noise. Kiku shrank back. “Sorry,” she said. “But why can’t I see Takeru? Did I do something wrong?”

Mama looked out the window. “No, no, sweetie. You did absolutely nothing wrong,” she replied. “Takeru and Ryoken are the ones who did something wrong.” Mama frowned. “Something terrible. So Ryoko’s not letting anyone see them. Or each other.”

Looking at Mama’s troubled face, Kiku felt her heart pound a little faster. Kiku wanted to ask what happened, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Well, Takeru got Ryoken in trouble, but . . . he also got himself in the biggest trouble imaginable, and she didn’t think it was because of a harmless prank. That wasn’t the plan at _all_. Kiku then felt her heart get heavy. If only she had said something yesterday. If only she had told Mama that Takeru was acting weird.

Kiku sniffled, and Mama quickly got up, putting Benji in the crib. “Kiku?”

“Mama, I should’ve told you,” she said in between sobs. “I should’ve told you about Takeru.”

Mama sat on her knees to be at Kiku’s level and gently grabbed her arms, her dark brown eyes softening. “What about him?”

“He. He was acting _weird_ yesterday. Not like himself at all,” said Kiku. “He was very moody, but it was a quiet moody. Not like him at all.” Kiku’s sobbing got worse. She didn’t know why she was getting so choked up over it. “I thought I was making things up, that it was all in my head, so I didn’t think . . . I didn’t think . . .” Kiku wasn’t able to finish her sentence before she crashed against Mama’s chest, having completely given up to her tears. Kiku was pulled in further as she cried. And cried and cried. Mama only smoothed the top of her head, and the sensation eventually calmed Kiku down.

“Kiku,” softly said Mama, “I know you feel you have to look out for Takeru since he’s your first and best friend. But you don’t have to do that. This is something the Homuras have to deal with.”

“But—” Kiku protested, but Mama shook her head.

“Let’s just trust them, okay?”

Kiku pouted and sniffled. She wanted so badly to go to the Homuras, find out what happened straight from Takeru since the adults weren’t gonna give her any clear answers. And, if she were Takeru, she’d just go ahead and do it, no matter what Mama or Mama Homura said. But she wasn’t him. She was gonna listen to Mama and wait it out. Maybe Takeru would tell her when he was able to go outside again, maybe not.

She just hoped he was all right.

Kiku undid the ribbon in her hair and walked over to her little brother, asleep on his back with his hands balled up in a fist like he was ready to fight. Giggling, Kiku poked his tummy, and Benji’s face scrunched up before relaxing again.

“Well, Benji, you’ll be seeing Big Sister a lot more in the next couple of days,” she said. “Better get used to it.”

Benji only sleep-gurgled.

* * *

**Homura Residence**

It had to have been a dream.

When Takeru lazily woke that morning, Mommy’s worried gray eyes stared at his. Mommy _never_ woke him up. Takeru would get up on his own (because he’s hungry) or Obaa-chan or Ojii-chan—since Mommy and Daddy would be at work—would stand by the door and tell him it’s time to get up. So, anyone patiently waiting for him to wake up didn’t happen.

Until that day.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Mommy’s caring voice said. Takeru only moaned and rubbed his eyes as he sat up, unsure if he was awake.

“Mommy?” Takeru said, still rubbing his eyes. A gentle hand ruffled his already messy bed hair, and Takeru giggled. He loved it when Mommy did that. Feeling more awake, Takeru asked, pouting, “Mommy, aren’t you gonna be late for work?”

Mommy frowned for a second before she smiled. “Work knows I’m here, so you don’t have to worry,” she said.

Takeru blinked. It _had_ to have been a dream. Mommy’s job wanted her to travel all over the mountain area, and she’s the only one at work who does it. There’s no way they’d let her be at home in the morning because adults weren’t nice like that. At least, that’s what Daddy had said. But no matter how much Takeru rubbed his eyes, Mommy being in front of him didn’t change. Within a second, he was lifted from his bed onto her lap.

“So you’re gonna be here? All day?” Takeru looked up at Mommy, his blue-gray eyes sparkling. Mommy smiled, nodded, and combed her fingers through his hair as he snuggled up against her. She was warm, and Takeru’s eyelids felt heavier.

“Takeru,” she whispered.

“Yes, Mommy?”

A pause. “I love you, no matter what. Don’t forget that, okay?”

Takeru nodded. “I won’t, Mommy.”

She held him tighter. “And Daddy and Ojii-chan and Obaa-chan love you too, even if. Even if their love looks a little different.”

Takeru nodded, slower that time. Something was off. Mommy sounded scared when she said that. Before he could think on that, however, his door slid open—partially—revealing Ojii-chan in his outdoor clothes. He looked at Takeru for a moment, then at Mommy, then back to Takeru.

“Breakfast is ready, Ryoko. We’ll be outside with you-know-who.”

“You-know-who?” repeated Takeru, looking at Mommy. But Mommy only closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and released Takeru from her embrace. She didn’t acknowledge Ojii-chan’s statement as she grabbed Takeru’s hand.

“Come on, firecracker. We’re having breakfast now,” she said. Her voice tried to sound cheery, but Takeru could sense that cheeriness was forced. He didn’t think too much about that, however, because his mind—and his stomach—immediately shifted gears to the food. All meals were good, but breakfast was his favorite, especially miso soup and grilled fish. He hoped they were gonna be served that morning. Takeru and she walked to the dining room, and Takeru hopped on the chair, swinging his legs and humming.

“I wonder, I wonder, I wonder what’s for breakfast,” Takeru said in rhythm as Mommy set the table and brought out the food—grilled fish and white rice. Seeing the grilled fish, Takeru’s eyes lit up, his smile getting wide. It _was_ his favorite! Mommy took her seat across from him and folded her hands.

“Thanks for the food,” she said. Takeru looked around the table, noticing it was only the two of them, but also quickly said “Thanks for the food!” and the two ate their breakfast. Or, more accurately, Takeru inhaled his breakfast.

Mommy laughed. “Slow down there or it’ll get caught in your throat,” she said as Takeru swallowed his bites whole. But Takeru only grinned as he stuffed his face more with food. It was good. He couldn’t help it! So it didn’t take long for him to clean his plate. With his belly full, he could focus on what had originally bothered him.

“Mommy, where’s everybody else?” he asked.

Mommy smiled as she still worked on her food. “Daddy’s at work, and Ojii-chan and Obaa-chan are outside.” Takeru sat up, expecting more, but Mommy said nothing else, and Takeru pouted. That answer wasn’t satisfying at all. It was a rule that everyone ate together at the same time, so to sit at a near empty table and eat felt out of place. Daddy not being at the table was one thing since he’s at work, but Ojii-chan and Obaa-chan not sitting with them? That was weird. And Pretty Boy not eating with them was even weirder.

“But, Mommy,” said Takeru, “we _always_ eat together. And Pretty Boy always sat across from me too. What’s going on?” But Mommy only cut up the last of her fish with a knife, as if she didn’t hear the question. She, however, then set her utensils on the plate loudly, and Takeru could only watch in amazement. It was rare seeing Mommy like that.

“Takeru,” she said, her voice sounding restrained, “you are not to see that boy again. Understand?”

One day, all the adults in the world tell him to make nice with Pretty Boy, and the next, he’s being told to stay away? That was strange. Did Pretty Boy get in trouble somehow? That wasn’t Kiku’s plan! Ugh, he’d really done it now. And he wasn’t going to be able to see him again? No way! “But why?” he asked, his voice getting higher.

“Why?” Mommy repeated, as if Takeru had uttered a forbidden spell. “ _Why_? Takeru, do you have _any_ idea what happened last night?”

Takeru’s face fell. Last night? He didn’t remember last night at all. He had visited Kiku, then he came back, and then . . .

And then . . .

And then . . . ?

What _did_ happen last night? Remembering the day before should be so simple. Why couldn’t Takeru do it? He could recall the day before yesterday with ease, yet yesterday was such a mystery, a blur, a fog. What was going on? What was _wrong_ with him?

“Mommy, I. I don’t remember,” said Takeru, his voice trembling. “I don’t remember!” The corners of his eyes watered, and he immediately wiped them with his sleeve, his eyes burning. A chair being pushed away from the table was the only noise before he was lifted from his own chair, cradled in Mommy’s arms, the safest place in the whole entire world.

He felt Mommy kiss his forehead and heard her whisper, “It’s okay, Takeru. It’s okay, it’s okay. You don’t have to remember.” And he knew he was supposed to feel better. Yet he only felt an emptiness inside: a gnawing, growing emptiness that would be hard to erase. Something terrible happened last night, a something terrible he felt he caused. He’s a troublemaker, after all. But what was it?

Takeru couldn’t ask Mommy. He didn’t think Ojii-chan and Obaa-chan would help either. Adults had that special code among themselves not to tell kids what’s going on, even though it’d make things so much easier. And there’s no way Kiku would know – she was at her own house at the time. That only left one person: the one person he was forbidden to see.

* * *

**Homura Garden – Homura Residence**

White gardening gloves on, Ryoken carefully plucked the red flowers from their beds and placed them in the light green flowerpots filled with dirt. Homura ojii-chan shuffled over next to him as Ryoken methodically took the plants, checked them, and put them in the pots.

“You’re a natural,” Homura ojii-chan said, taking one of the filled pots. Ryoken muttered a phrase of gratitude before he continued, “These alpine bearberries are going to look great around the house when autumn gets here.”

Autumn. One of the four seasons. _That’s right_ , Ryoken recalled, _we’re at the end of summer now._ He’d forgotten what season it was already. Although he’d spent much of his time indoors at Father’s, it was easy to tell not only what the weather was like but what season it was based on the state of the flowers outside his room. If the flowers were swaying back and forth gently, it was good weather. If they looked as though they were going to be pulled up, it was bad. But being with the Homuras, Ryoken hadn’t been as attentive—too much had happened, was happening.

Ryoken rubbed his forehead with his forearm and stood up, his clothes littered with dirt and various seeds. Even though it was morning, and he was by the mountain, Ryoken felt incredibly heated. He wasn’t used to working that much, so his arms and legs ached, chest burning. Ryoken was almost embarrassed with how little energy he had for the most basic activities. Even the grandparents had more energy than he did!

Homura ojii-chan laughed at the sight and handed him a huge jug of water, almost as big as Ryoken’s head. “Take this. You look like you need it. We can stop for now, anyway. Harue will get mad if we don’t leave any work for her to do,” he said with a laugh. Ryoken took several moments to examine it before he chugged the water, nearly gulping the entire thing.

“A horse to water, aren’t ya?” Homura ojii-chan joked, playfully elbowing the boy in the ribs. Ryoken blushed, realizing he hardly left any water for the man.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, but the older man simply patted him on the shoulder and shook his head.

“That’s all right. There’s always more water where that came from. Anyhow,” Homura ojii-chan stood up, “let’s get you cleaned up at our place this time. Ryoko would be furious if we tracked any dirt.” Ryoken nodded and followed the older man. Along the way, Ryoken caught a glimpse of Takeru smiling, playing with a few toys in his room through a window there, and Ryoken’s heart jumped.

_“You need to stay away from Takeru.”_

Ryoken shook his head. _No, Ryoken,_ he told himself. _You can’t_. _You can’t hurt these people anymore._ He, having fallen several steps behind, ran up to Homura ojii-chan, thinking no more of the boy in the window—well, he tried to. But, when he and Homura ojii-chan arrived at their destination and after greeting Homura obaa-chan, Ryoken’s mind flashed to the red- and white-haired boy again. He tried taking a longer time to wash up than usual, reading higher level books, staring outside the window while focusing on the flowers—none of that worked.

And Ryoken didn’t understand it _at all_.

Yes, Takeru had a spark that Ryoken seemed to be attracted by—or confused by. A moth to a flame. But, Takeru had also tried to choke him. It just wasn’t _normal_ to want to be close to your attacker.

_Was that really Takeru’s fault? Didn’t you deserve it?_

Ryoken’s head pounded, his vision blurring. His thoughts had been more severe, more demanding ever since the night before. His conflicting thoughts, thoughts that made him not sure of whether the whole thing was even worth it anymore, thoughts that reminded him that the alternative was no better.

He was at a crossroad.

He couldn’t go back to Father—his life would be in danger. The man whom he most revered was no longer there, if Father had ever been that man at all. Yet, he was still Father’s son, his obedient, loyal son, who had even Father’s most vile traits running through him. And that was why he couldn’t stay with the Homuras either. They were a family he could never have, a family—he was sure—managed fine before he barged in uninvited. Yet even though he had done that to Takeru, they still took him in, they still took care of him, they still invited him to do things with them.

_Why_?

“…ken. Ryoken!”

A firm, gentle voice snapped Ryoken out of his thought spiral, and he found Homura obaa-chan staring at him, her eyes full of concern. How long had she been standing there, calling his name? Ryoken was usually never that absorbed in anything to where he couldn’t hear anyone. Last night had certainly made a mess of things.

“Sorry, Homura obaa-chan,” said Ryoken, forcing a smile to make the apology genuine. “Did you need something?”

Homura obaa-chan sighed, crossing her arms, and a laugh sounded from someone else coming into the room. Ryoken glanced in the laugh’s direction to find Homura ojii-chan with a steaming cup in his hand.

“You’re a good kid, but you certainly can be a handful like Takeru in your own way,” he said.

Homura obaa-chan stared at Homura ojii-chan, who shrank back slightly, before she sat down next to Ryoken. Ryoken stared.

“I-we want to ask you, Ryoken,” said Homura obaa-chan. “How about living with us instead of with Ryoko and Hisahito?”

At first, Ryoken didn’t think he heard the question right. As the words finally sunk in, however, he clutched the bed sheets. Yet another idea that was perfectly reasonable. The farther away from and less likely he’d see Takeru while staying away from what Father was planning, the better. Plus, he’d be able to lose himself in the quiet of gardening and reading each day. The perfect set-up, something Ryoken had always wanted since he intruded on the Homuras.

Even so, Ryoken’s heart still resisted. His brain and his heart, for whatever reason, weren’t on the same page. As much as Ryoken wanted to listen to his brain, to his reason, his heart was louder. And what his heart wanted, even though he couldn’t see him, talk with him, even though he had hurt him, was to be close to that boy. Close to Takeru.

He would listen to his brain if he were still with Father, but since he wasn’t . . .

“I. I-thank you,” said Ryoken, “but I’ll stay with Hisahito-san and Ryoko-san.”

Homura obaa-chan nodded her head. “That would be too much change for you,” she said, thankfully not suspecting a thing. “We still thought we’d ask, with how things are now and such.”

“And there you have it,” Homura ojii-chan spoke up. “Back to gardening work for us. Try keeping yourself busy, Ryoken. But don’t wander off, okay?”

Ryoken didn’t even know if he was capable of wandering, let alone where he could wander off to, since he hadn’t gone outside the Homuras’. Nonetheless, he said, “Okay,” and picked up his bigger books. That should keep him occupied until lunch time. After exchanging goodbyes, Ryoken made his way back to the other house.

* * *

**Homura Residence**

Takeru wasn’t a light sleeper, but he was awakened by the sound of a sliding door for the room next to his. Much like his jack-in-the-box toys, he sat up in his bed.

_He was here!_

Takeru wasn’t allowed to see Pretty Boy, but he’s the only one who had answers about what had happened. And Takeru knew it would bother him if he didn’t find out. He hated being in the dark. Takeru tiptoed out of his own room to the door of the one next to his, looking around for Mommy or Ojii-chan or Obaa-chan. Not seeing them, he sat down and lightly tapped on the door repeatedly. No answer. Takeru tried again, his tapping getting louder. Still no answer. Takeru crossed his arms.

“I know you’re in there, Pretty Boy,” huffed Takeru. “Open the door.”

“Go away, Takeru,” came an annoyed reply from the other side. “You’re gonna get me in trouble.”

Takeru tilted his head to the side. “But trouble is what I do best!”

“Exactly,” Pretty Boy replied immediately. “Go. Away.”

Such a pain. He didn’t have to say it like _that._ Takeru wanted to barge in there and shake him and give him a piece of his mind. But then Mommy would hear. Then Takeru would be in big, big, _biiiiig_ trouble, bigger trouble than he already was. So, Takeru swallowed his irritation and sighed. “I want to talk to you, Ryoken.”

No reply.

“Mommy asked me about last night, but I don’t remember a thing,” said Takeru. “I know Daddy, Obaa-chan, and Ojii-chan won’t tell me nothing. I thought you would.”

Takeru heard some shuffling, yet there was still no reply. Usually, Pretty Boy would have some mean-spirited comeback. Yet Pretty Boy wouldn’t answer. Or maybe silence was the answer. But it wasn’t an answer that Takeru would accept.

“What happened, Ryoken? Why can’t I see you?” asked Takeru, his eyes watering, voice strained. “Did. Did I do something wrong?”

Still silence, but Takeru could hear footsteps come closer and closer, but then stop. The door, of course, was still closed.

“Takeru, you really . . . you really don’t remember what happened?” Takeru heard the trembling in Pretty Boy’s voice. That was a first. The all-knowing, too-good-for-anything Pretty Boy was afraid, afraid like Takeru. Yet, the answer was no different than what Mommy had said before.

Takeru sniffled, trying to keep his tears under control. “No . . . No, I don’t.” He let a sob escape. “But I think I had a big something to do with it. That’s why Mommy won’t tell me. Why I can’t see you.”

The door opened slowly, revealing Pretty Boy’s piercing, concerned, scared ice blue eyes. Both stared at each other for what was an eternity, Takeru not sure of what to say. Words failing Takeru more than usual, he stood up and reached for Ryoken’s wrist, holding onto his last chance to uncover yesterday’s events, his last chance as to why he couldn’t remember. He had to find out, he had to, he had to, he _had to_.

Fate, however, had a different idea.

“Takeru? Takeru, are you here?” Mommy’s concerned voice called. Takeru knew he had to let go, but he tightened his grip on Ryoken’s wrist instead. He was too close to finding the truth. He couldn’t let it slip away.

“Please, Ryoken?” pleaded Takeru.

A noise came out of Ryoken, as if he were going to say something, but a loud gasp interrupted him, and he and Takeru looked to find Mommy standing there, her eyes wide. Without a word, Ryoken yanked his wrist away from Takeru and knocked him over, slamming the door shut.

No. No. _No!_

“W-Wait!” Takeru called out as he was being pulled away by Mommy. “Wait, Ryoken!” But the door remained shut, and, in mere moments, he was back in his own room, the door slammed behind him. He let a few tears escape, frustrated that his chance to figure out what happened yesterday was wasted. Mommy grabbed him firmly by the arms.

“Takeru, what did I tell you?” she asked, her voice high-pitched. “You _have_ to stay away from him.”

“But why?” cried Takeru. “Why can’t I see him? Why won’t you tell me?” Mommy, however, only pulled him close in a tight embrace until all he could see was her light pink shirt. 

“To protect _you_ , Takeru,” she said finally. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Takeru further pressed into her shirt. “What does that mean? What happened, Mommy?” But, as usual, no answer came. Takeru made up his mind then. He was going to talk to Pretty Boy, and no one would stop him.

At that moment, Takeru had a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takeru: I have a plan!  
> Me: my boi........ my boi pls........ 😔😭😂
> 
> It's been a hot sec since this was updated, hasn't it? 😂
> 
> First thing's first tho, I noticed this fic has nearly 200 hits???? and I'm???? shook??? thank y'all for the support for this very ambitious project. It means the world, especially since I haven't really written (and completed) anything over three chapters before 😭 
> 
> Second thing..... Part of why it took me so long is that I wrestled w/ whether or not I should've pulled the "whoops Takeru conveniently forgets what happened" card, but in the end I decided to go w/ it b/c the fact that Takeru doesn't remember is.....gonna be a huge foundation for the other two fics. HOWEVER, if it feels too much of a "that seems convenient" plot device, please pleeeeeeaaaaase let me know. 😔🙏
> 
> And yeah that's basically it. 😂 Hope y'all liked this chapter and please look forward to the next! 😊


	7. Chapter 7

It started with a light _tap. Tap . . . Tap . . . Tap._

Ryoken hadn’t thought anything of the tapping except that it was _really_ annoying. All morning, all day, all night—nonstop. Ryoken had figured something was wrong with the pipes and told Hisahito-san and Ryoko about it. Hisahito-san had said he’d take a look, and, for a while, as Hisahito-san looked, the tapping did stop, and Ryoken had a few days of peace.

But Hisahito-san then said that everything worked fine, and there was nothing to worry about. That was great and all—Ryoken didn’t have to worry about waking up in water in the middle of the night—but, a few days after that, the _tap . . . tap . . . tap_ started up again! While it wasn’t the most annoying sound in the world, it was quickly turning into that. Again, Ryoken distracted himself by gardening with the Homura grandparents or reading over at their place so he wouldn’t have to hear it. During the day, that worked out well.

At night, however, the tapping was louder, which was even worse! _Tap, tap, taptaptaptap_. Right when Ryoken was falling asleep too. Since the walls were so thin, Ryoken wondered if Ryoko or Hisahito-san could hear the noise. So, one day, after enduring another sleepless night because of the stupid tapping, Ryoken asked the Homura parents if they’d heard the tapping. But the parents looked at him and laughed.

“Maybe you’re being haunted by a ghost,” said Ryoko as she sipped from her glass. But she didn’t let the water she was drinking go down before she went into another fit of laughter, the water splattered all over her and part of the table. Hisahito-san mouthed an apology—if it was one, since he laughed himself soon after—before helping Ryoko clean up.

Clearly, asking the parents had been the wrong approach. Ryoken was unsure about family dynamics, but he was certain the grandparents had more authority. So, figuring the grandparents would be on his side, he told Homura ojii-chan about the situation and how the parents weren’t doing anything about it. But much to Ryoken’s surprise, the grandfather, who was so stiff that he didn’t think it’d be possible, laughed too!

“I’m serious!” said Ryoken in a high pitch, his cheeks flushed.

“Okay, okay, calm down now, Ryoken,” Homura ojii-chan said. He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Hisahito and Ryoko probably have too much to do, so Harue and I will look into the knocking for you. Not much we can do if it turns out to be a ghost, but—”

“Ugh, not you too!” Ryoken let slip, and he covered his mouth in surprise. What was he _doing_? He could stay with the Homuras, even after all that’s happened, and that’s how he was treating them? Disrespectful. But he still couldn’t swallow the annoyance he felt, the irritation from his problem not being taken seriously. “Ghost or not, I can’t sleep.”

Homura ojii-chan smiled. “Hisahito and Ryoko already gave you a tough time, huh? Well, you can be rest assured the more responsible ones are on the case. In the meantime, you could stay here if it helps.”

Ryoken thought about it, longer than intended. He wouldn’t be by Takeru, but his sleep was much more important. No use sacrificing his energy or lack thereof over something so trivial. He could adjust to not being by Takeru for a few days.

“I’ll stay here,” said Ryoken.

Homura ojii-chan raised an eyebrow, clearly not having expected that answer. And, after Ryoken’s answer to his last question, why wouldn’t he? But then the older man smiled, slowly opening the door, inviting Ryoken inside, and Ryoken cautiously accepted.

“I’ll get your stuff from the other house,” quickly said Homura ojii-chan. “Make yourself at home.”

“T-Thank you,” Ryoken said, unsure of what making one’s self at home really meant. He walked towards the extra bedroom by the garden, the lingering smell of sweet, rich pastries hanging on the walls. Ryoken instantly relaxed his shoulders. His troubles wouldn’t bother him here. Pulling up a chair to a desk by the wall, he pulled out his book from his hoodie pocket, completely cut off from the world.

* * *

Five minutes. Fifteen. An hour. Three hours. Six. One day. Two.

Takeru hadn’t heard the door next to his room open or close, and it bothered him. It bothered him even more that no one would tell him what was going on. He asked Mommy and Daddy, but Mommy and Daddy pretended they didn’t know what he was talking about. Or maybe they really didn’t know, but he doubted it. Adults knew _everything_ kids didn’t know.

But, Takeru had noticed that Obaa-chan and Ojii-chan were around the house more often. Sure, they always came by for mealtime three times a day. Lately, though, it’d been more times. And they were also spending a lot of those more times standing by the room next to his, talking, laughing, carrying on. It was all very strange, and Takeru craved answers.

So, one day, Takeru, as he does, opened the door as his grandparents were speaking and ran up to them, his eyes full of questions. Maybe they would tell him what was going on. Or at least Obaa-chan could tell him since he didn’t think Ojii-chan had the patience. Ojii-chan, however, was the first to notice him. “Takeru?” he asked, surprise coloring his voice. “What’s the matter?”

This was his chance! “Weeeeeell,” began Takeru, “you and Obaa-chan have been around a lot lately, but I haven’t seen Pretty Boy in a while. What’s going on?”

Obaa-chan and Ojii-chan looked at each other and laughed, confusing Takeru. Then, Ojii-chan coughed into his hand. “We’re checking for ghosts, so you better be careful. Ryoko said she saw one in this very room, and if you don’t behave, it’ll get you,” said Ojii-chan.

Takeru’s face paled, and he gulped loudly. That explained why he hadn’t seen Pretty Boy — a ghost got him! “A _ghost_?”

Obaa-chan nudged Ojii-chan, and Ojii-chan shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t worry about us, Takeru. We’ll be able to take on the ghost,” Ojii-chan said. “You, however, need to stay in your room. Understand?”

Takeru’s eyes darted from his grandparents back to the room next to his, then back to his grandparents again as he said “Okay.” Not only was there a ghost in the house—Pretty Boy’s missing too! But, as Takeru slowly went back into his room, the wheels in his brain slowly turned. It didn’t make sense. If Pretty Boy had been taken by a ghost, wouldn’t Ojii-chan and Obaa-chan be more concerned? Or Mommy and Daddy? Yet, they were eerily calm. As if . . . as if they weren’t in a rush to find him.

Not that Takeru cared either! If Pretty Boy was gone, that’s what he’d wanted all along, anyway!

Or that’s what he’d _thought_ he’d wanted.

It _was_ quiet without him, and Takeru didn’t do so well with quiet. Even if they couldn’t see each other, even if Pretty Boy talked _way_ less than he did, knowing there was someone close to his age mere steps away made Takeru feel less alone, less afraid. Seeing Pretty Boy might’ve made his blood boil, but if he was out of sight, and Takeru knew he was close, it was a different story. Being by Pretty Boy was different, strange, tingly. Much different from when he was with Kiku or his parents or his grandparents.

A middle weird feeling.

Takeru’s volatile heart and super wired brain couldn’t figure out whether it was good or bad. But what Takeru did know was he needed Pretty Boy’s answers about the night that tore them farther apart.

And, as much as it annoyed him, he needed Ryoken in other ways too.

Making up his mind, Takeru huffed and grabbed his dark blue jacket. If the adults weren’t going to tell him where he was, then Takeru was going to find him _himself_.

The crisp autumn air wrapped itself around Takeru as he walked along the cobblestone, _jizo_ statue-decorated courtyard between Mommy and Daddy’s house and Obaa-chan and Ojii-chan’s house. The ghost might be scary, but Takeru knew that if it took Pretty Boy, it didn’t go far. According to Kiku, ghosts had little to no sense of direction. So, Pretty Boy could be in only one place.

And that place was . . .

* * *

Takeru had reached the end of the cobblestone pathway and stood at the side of Obaa-chan and Ojii-chan’s house. He was about to make his way to the front door to look for more clues about Pretty Boy’s location when he stopped in his tracks, the gentle wind turning more into a stronger breeze. A white dot had appeared out of the corner of his eye. Takeru instinctively turned to follow it.

The ghost?

Takeru blinked a couple of times—no longer seeing the white dot—and growled a little, feeling more antsy with each passing moment. He ran towards the front of the house to see if the ghost or Pretty Boy was there.

Nobody.

If only Kiku had been with him. The search would’ve been easier than a game of hide-and-seek, thanks to her otherworldly senses. But she wasn’t around. Takeru had find what he’s looking for himself. Perhaps, though, he had to wait another day. He was too wound up, like a t-shirt wrung too tightly, to focus. Slumping his shoulders, Takeru strolled to the back again.

Then the white dot again appeared on the side of his eye.

Takeru quickly turned, not wanting to lose sight of the dot, stumbling, and kicking up some dust from the ground. At last, the white dot in his vision grew. The white dot turned to white hair with purple streaks on the side, something moving—floating, rather, with the curtains—across the barebones bedroom Ojii-chan and Obaa-chan had for guests. Takeru then rubbed his eyes again. A ghost? But the sun shone right on the moving object, and instead of a white and purple mass moving around, Takeru saw a boy no taller than he with white and purple hair, eyebrows scrunched, sitting cross-legged on a chair, a humongous blue book in his hands.

_Pretty Boy!_

Takeru’s first instinct was to call out to him, but that instinct melted the more he stared. There was no mistaking it: it was Pretty Boy in the window, the one in Ojii-chan and Obaa-chan’s house with a book that was bigger than Takeru’s head. Nobody else would spend such a nice early fall day indoors _reading_. Ghosts made people do things they usually wouldn’t do, according to Kiku, so Pretty Boy was more than safe. Taken by a ghost! Takeru wanted to laugh. But he stared instead, mouth hanging open slightly.

It was Pretty Boy in the window. Nothing about his appearance had changed—at least, not what Takeru had remembered about his appearance. Yet, Takeru’s heartbeat accelerated as he looked, as if he’d never seen such a pretty boy before in all his life. Without thinking, Takeru slowly stepped closer to the house until he was by the window. Had it not been there, he’d be next to Pretty Boy and then.

And then . . . ?

On the one hand, Takeru wanted to pull the door open and give Pretty Boy a piece of his mind for making him worried, for being gone like that, making a mess of everything back at Mommy and Daddy’s. Yet, Takeru’s heart pounded, more than glad to see him unharmed. Takeru needed answers about that night, but when did Takeru care about Pretty Boy so much, enough to be relieved he’s not hurt?

When did Takeru not want him gone?

As Takeru put out a finger to tap on the window, a throat being cleared jolted him out of his fog. He froze. Quickly turning around, Takeru saw Daddy, his arms crossed, eyebrows scrunched, mouth in the biggest frown Takeru had ever seen. The boy gulped, knowing all too well what that expression meant: he was—as usual—in big trouble.

“Takeru, what are you doing?” asked Daddy, his voice low, steady.

Takeru couldn’t speak. The sight of Pretty Boy had taken all speech away from him, and he had no answer. He only looked down at his red shoes. Without another word, Takeru was abruptly lifted from the ground and was being taken away, away from the answers he wanted, away from the company he wanted—needed—in a house full of adults who wouldn’t tell him anything.

And Takeru didn’t want that.

“No!” screamed Takeru as he wriggled in Daddy’s arms. “Put me down!” But Daddy refused to let go, only tightening his grip, cold to Takeru’s pleas. Takeru took one last look at Pretty Boy, unaware of what was happening, through the transparent window. Mustering all the energy he could, he finally did what he should’ve done minutes prior.

“Ryoken!”

Pretty Boy’s head snapped upward from the book he was reading as he and Takeru locked eyes, Takeru’s full of fear as well as his. Ryoken slammed the book shut and ran to the window. The last thing Takeru saw before Daddy pushed Takeru’s head into his shoulder was Ryoken, widened eyes full of shock, mouthing his name.

* * *

After Takeru was forcefully brought back to Mommy and Daddy’s house, Takeru was met with a high-strung barrage of babbling from Mommy and his grandparents that blended, that was undecipherable. Takeru frowned. It didn’t matter what they were saying. He knew by the tone he was being yelled at. As usual. After the litany of woes stopped, Mommy grabbed hold of Takeru’s arms, but Takeru didn’t look at her. Finally, Takeru turned to face her after the grip on his arms tightened.

“Takeru, we were so worried!” Mommy said. “Don’t wander off like that again, okay?”

Normally, Takeru would respond. Normally, he didn’t want Mommy to worry because she always took his side. And normally, he’d burst into tears, saying, “I’m sorry, Mommy. I won’t do it again.” But that day was different. Takeru had wanted answers, answers not even Mommy would give him.

So, instead, Takeru did what he rarely did: eyeballs dry, he kept his mouth shut.

And boy, should he have not have done that. Gasps abounded. Clicking of tongues. More chattering that Takeru couldn’t decipher.

“Takeru,” broke in Daddy, “we don’t have time for this foolishness. You’re going to apologize to your mother this instant and you need to—”

“—stay away from _that boy_ , right?” finished Takeru, voice trembling. “Even though _that_ boy will give me answers when you won’t!”

A tense silence followed, save for a faint breeze from the mid-afternoon outside. Takeru could tell from the adults’ bewildered, shocked faces that wasn’t an outburst they’d expected. But he didn’t care. His other grandfather had always talked about always finding the truth, saying the truth, even when it bothers people. While Takeru hadn’t understood, like with most things, what he had been talking about at first, he felt that then, he had a glimpse of understanding.

Takeru was going to find the truth about that night, the night that vanished in his memory, the night that had left a gnawing emptiness in his heart, whatever it took.

Mommy looked at Daddy, who shook his head, then pulled Takeru close, his head resting on her shoulder. But Takeru didn’t return the embrace. It wasn’t the answer he had wanted.

“Takeru, I-we don’t know what we did, but we’re sorry.” More meaningless words. “We’re just so worried about you and—”

Takeru snapped to attention when Mommy began to shake. Another side of her Takeru hadn’t seen before. In an instant, Daddy gently pulled Mommy away, Mommy falling into his arms, her tears bubbling over. Obaa-chan then rested a hand in the small of Takeru’s back, and Takeru turned towards her grim face.

“Come on, Takeru, let’s go back to your room,” she said in a voice that didn’t match how she looked. Takeru knew he wasn’t getting anywhere with these adults, so he nodded, not even looking at Mommy as he went through the door.

* * *

Ryoken had done everything he could. He tried reading. He tried looking at the flowers outside before the strong wind forced him back indoors. He tried pacing back and forth. But the image of Takeru—scared, wide-eyed, squirming in Hisahito-san’s arms—just wouldn’t leave. They were supposed to stay away from each other, not even look in each other’s direction, so Ryoken hadn’t expected to see him, especially in such a state.

Did Takeru still want to know what had happened that night? That had to have been it. There couldn’t have been another reason.

After pacing in his room for the millionth time, Ryoken decided what he needed was an inside change of scenery. He went into the kitchen and sat in a chair by the table, glancing out of a window that had a closer view of the town’s mountain, the mountain that had started it all. And the mountain, with the sun rapidly falling behind it, looked back, unconcerned by Ryoken’s inner turmoil and confusion. It simply _was_. How Ryoken had wished he could be like the mountain, indifferent to the chaotic world around him and in his heart—the way he used to be. It would’ve been so much simpler.

Yet, following the indifferent mountain had led him to the Homuras. It was with them that he had to question everything, something he was never brought up to do. And even after all this time, he still couldn’t figure out why. Like Takeru wanting to know from Ryoken what happened that night, perhaps Ryoken needed to seek Takeru to understand why his heart was out of sorts, why it hadn’t calmed down from the moment he was taken in.

The Homuras didn’t want the two of them together. After that night, rightfully so. But Ryoken decided there was no other way—he needed answers. 

A creaking door jolted Ryoken out of his thoughts, followed by the low, mumbling, concerned voices of Homura ojii-chan and Homura obaa-chan. Ryoken hurriedly stood up as the footsteps came closer to the kitchen until he finally saw the grandparents.

“Ha-Hello,” stammered Ryoken, his heart pounding.

Homura ojii-chan laughed. “What’s with you, Ryoken? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

Ryoken frowned. _That_ again?

“Asahi, that’s enough,” Homura obaa-chan scolded him, playfully elbowing his rib. “Anybody would be frightened out of their wits to see an old codger like you.” Homura ojii-chan merely shook his head, so Homura obaa-chan continued, “Speaking of seeing, you didn’t happen to see Takeru today, did you?”

Ryoken’s back stiffened. “Why do you want to know?”

_Ryoken, what are you doing?!_

“No reason. We’re simply curious,” Homura ojii-chan replied too quickly, but Ryoken could tell there was a reason behind it. And whatever that reason was, Ryoken thought it better to not tell the truth. He wanted to see Takeru get riled up because _that’s_ fun to watch but getting him in trouble was the last thing he wanted. If he gets more in trouble, they’d separate them even more.

For the sake of the answers he needed, Ryoken couldn’t let that happen.

“No. No, I didn’t see him,” Ryoken lied, his eyes looking off to the side, the image of Takeru yelling out to him clear in his mind. The grandparents detected nothing and only nodded, seemingly accepting Ryoken’s lie, but Ryoken’s stomach knots still turned and turned.

“Good to hear,” Homura ojii-chan replied. “Anyway, concerning the _other_ issue, Harue and I heard nothing the last couple of days at the other house. It’s safe to return if you want to. But . . .” Homura ojii-chan trailed off as he washed his hands, leaving the smooth water to run as he dried them.

“But . . . ?” repeated Ryoken, but Homura ojii-chan only turned off the water. Homura ojii-chan and Homura obaa-chan only shuffled their feet as they opened cabinet and refrigerator doors, the lack of a definitive answer putting Ryoken even more on edge. “What happened?” Ryoken persisted.

Homura obaa-chan only laughed, but it was a hollow laugh. Putting her cooking mittens on, she said, “Just make sure you don’t cross paths with Takeru, okay?”

There had to have been a story tied to why Takeru had been right outside as Ryoken was reading. Ryoken knew even if he’d asked further, though, the grandparents would be tight-lipped, keeping whatever happened under a suffocating lid, no hopes of it coming out. Even with the supposed danger that awaited him, Ryoken wasn’t afraid.

He was going back to Hisahito-san and Ryoko’s house.

He was going to get his answers. 

* * *

After dinner, Ryoken walked across the courtyard to the other house. He could tell something was off the moment he stepped inside and took his shoes off. Something was brewing, stirring, much like the stew that Ryoken’s nose could inhale from the kitchen a handful of meters away. The house that had seemed so warm and welcoming felt suffocating, the pounding in his heart having reached his ears.

He still pressed on, past the kitchen, past the living room, until at last, he was at his room . . .

. . . and there Takeru was, sitting cross-legged in front of the door, rocking side to side and humming, smile on his face, until he caught sight of Ryoken. The little firecracker smiled, but there was something about the smile that was different, more . . . unsettling than before. The air around Takeru was strange. Normally, he was like an annoying light that couldn’t be shut off. But, at that moment, Ryoken’s body tensed. One wrong move could result in an explosive fire, much like _that night_.

Ryoken swallowed hard as Takeru stood up.

“Welcome back, Pretty Boy!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Natsumi another cliffhanger?" yeah another one. 😂 But hey you got another chapter and that's all that counts, right? At this rate, it just looks like I'm only capable of writing one chapter a month tho, so I guess that'll be the schedule unless I learn how to write faster/more efficiently somehow dsalkfjskdlfa. 
> 
> ANYWAY.......... the last time I updated, this fic was approaching 200 hits and now it's well past that and I'm!!!!!! so happy!!!!!!! 😭💖 THANKS Y'ALL!!! I know I say this in like every A/N, but the amount of support this has gotten just blows me away, considering this is my first time actually writing something long-term and sticking w/ it for this long. I really appreciate it 💖💖💖 I hope y'all liked this chapter and are looking forward to the next!
> 
> (actually.......... the next chapter is another big one too so uh. prepare y'all'selves. 😂)


	8. Chapter 8

“Takeru . . .”

Takeru’s eyes looked intensely at Pretty Boy’s as Takeru walked closer, Pretty Boy stepping backward. Something _was_ wrong. Maybe the ghost had taken the real Pretty Boy, and Takeru was just seeing a clone. Pretty Boy would _never_ be afraid of him.

“What’s wrong, Pretty Boy?” asked Takeru as Pretty Boy avoided his gaze. “Why won’t you look at me?” Pretty Boy only made a dash for the handle, but Takeru stood in front and grabbed his wrist before his fingers could touch it. Pretty Boy immediately yanked it away with a force that sent Takeru backwards.

“Takeru, I-I don’t want any trouble . . .” Uncertainty. Fear. Takeru could sense all of that in his voice, and he didn’t understand it. “Just let me through.”

“But where did you go? I haven’t seen you the last couple of days!” Takeru huffed. But Pretty Boy only went for the handle again, and Takeru blocked his path again. Pretty Boy usually wasn’t that dodgy. “Where did you run off to?”

Pretty Boy looked away and closed his eyes. “Don’t be stupid. You saw me over at Homura ojii-chan and Homura obaa-chan’s house just now. Now let me throu- "

Ryoken reached for the handle, but Takeru stood firmly in front of it. The answer wasn’t good enough.

“But why were you there?” asked Takeru. “You can tell me that much, right?”

Pretty Boy didn’t look at him. “A ghost.”

“Huh?”

Pretty Boy turned his back. “There was a ghost in here, and it was hard to sleep, so I had to go to Homura ojii-chan and Homura obaa-chan’s house. That’s all there is to it.”

Goosebumps peppered Takeru’s skin, but Takeru kept on. Pretty Boy, as otherworldly as he looked, wouldn’t blame ghosts for anything. Takeru was going to find it, the reason Pretty Boy is acting so weird. Maybe it was related to the night Takeru couldn’t remember.

“You could’ve stayed with me!” Takeru whined. “Ghosts won’t get you if you’re not alone. That’s what Kiku says.” But Pretty Boy only clicked his tongue as his hand moved to the side of Takeru, but Takeru blocked it. “Come onnnn, Pretty Boy. You can tell me!”

“Takeru.” There was a sharp chill in his voice, a chill that reminded Takeru of Daddy when he was mad—no, no, it was even scarier than Daddy. “We’re not supposed to be talking to each other, remember?”

Silence fell over the two of them as Takeru’s frustration boiled at its peak until it finally bubbled over like lava.

“No!” Takeru shouted as Pretty Boy took a step back. “No, I don’t remember! Why does everybody ask me that?”

“Takeru . . .” Pretty Boy’s glacier blue eyes widened, his normal tone of voice returning.

But Takeru only continued, tears clinging to his irritated eyes. “’Don’t see that boy, don’t talk with that boy, don’t go near that boy.’ Why? _Why?_ ” Takeru grabbed the other boy by the gray hoodie collar with both of his hands. “Why won’t anyone tell me anything? Why won’t _you_? _Why?!_ ”

Takeru knew, even in his current state, he was being ridiculous. He wasn’t being fair to Pretty Boy. Maybe Pretty Boy had that “get along better with adults” thing about him that Takeru could never hope to be that annoyed him. Maybe it’s because Pretty Boy wouldn’t tell him about that night or the real reason he was over at Ojii-chan and Obaa-chan’s house, much like the adults. Maybe it’s because Takeru had no idea why Pretty Boy felt so distant, even though the two of them were close in age.

Whatever it was, Takeru had _had_ it.

But Pretty Boy only put a hand on Takeru’s, firmly ungrasping it from his hoodie collar, as much as Takeru tried to hold on. Pretty Boy’s hands were cold, yet surprisingly gentle.

“It’s.” Pretty Boy swallowed. “I.”

“You _what_?”

Takeru didn’t intend to sound that nasty.

“It’s better you don’t know,” Pretty Boy said. “Some things you don’t need to know. The sooner you find that out, the better, Takeru.”

That was the wrong answer.

The pit of Takeru’s stomach grow hotter as Takeru pushed Pretty Boy farther against the wall, more strength than he wanted. His rage grew with every ounce of force until, suddenly, it subsided as quickly as it came, the emptiness, the void created by that supposed fateful night returning, and Takeru had to let Pretty Boy go. The rage turned into sadness, a kind of sadness Takeru had never felt before. And it overwhelmed him.

“You . . .” whispered Takeru, feelings unknown to him a whirlwind inside his heart, his chest hurting, tears threatening to fall. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

“Huh?!” Pretty Boy raised his eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re not a kid like me after all,” Takeru got out. “You’re weird. A bad weird.”

Pretty Boy clicked his tongue as he pushed Takeru off him. “Great job figuring _that_ out, genius,” he said. “If me not constantly looking for trouble makes me bad, then that’s just fine!”

Takeru gasped. Pretty Boy was yelling at him? He had no idea he could do that. But he didn’t think on how strange it was for long before he realized Pretty Boy was making fun of him, another thing that he couldn’t stomach.

“You’re doing it again!” Takeru returned. “Why do you think you’re better than me? Because you’re not! You’re the one who showed up out of nowhere, not me!”

Pretty Boy flinched. That looked like it struck a nerve, a nerve, Takeru realized, he may not have wanted to touch.

“And _what_ of it?” he asked, his eyes getting wider and wider. “That’s none of your business!”

“It’s VERY much my business. Everything was hunky-dory before you showed up, and now you made everything worse!” Takeru babbled, despite himself. “I wish you never came here. I wish you could just go away forever!”

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Takeru stepped back, bottom lip trembling. No. No, he didn’t mean that _at all_. Why did he say that? He _needed_ Pretty Boy. That emptiness . . . the way he couldn’t remember that night. Pretty Boy was the key to figuring it all out. Before he could open his mouth to take it back, however, Pretty Boy spoke first.

“I wish I wasn’t here either.”

And, for some reason, that stung. Not even Takeru had bug bites that stung that badly. But, instead of retreating, Takeru lashed out at Pretty Boy more and more to hide the hurt he felt. And Pretty Boy, unlike his usual “I’m above you” way of talking, lashed out right back. The two of them got increasingly louder until a firm hand pulled Takeru away from Pretty Boy, and Takeru nearly fell to the floor.

“That’s _enough_.”

Takeru looked up, and his face paled.

It was Daddy.

“How many times do we have to tell you two to _stay away_?” he sighed, arms crossed.

“But Daddy—” Takeru whined, but Daddy wouldn’t hear of it. He scooped Takeru up and started walking away, and Takeru knew he was in big, _big_ trouble then. He squirmed, he cried, he screamed. All for nothing, however, as Daddy kept walking toward the kitchen.

“No! Put me down!” Takeru cried, using all the strength he had in his small body to try and wriggle free, but Daddy’s grip was stronger. Takeru’s eyes watered, his body unable to handle to frustration he felt, Pretty Boy becoming no more than a blurry blob in his vision. “Please . . .”

Pretty Boy walked into his room, closing the door, snuffing Takeru’s chances of discovering the truth out. Takeru sniffled as he and Daddy entered the kitchen, smelling strongly of fish and vegetables. The fish, Takeru could take. The vegetables, not so much. Daddy set Takeru in a chair as Mommy continued stirring one of the vegetable-filled pots. Takeru said nothing and only sniffled more, not even hungry for once.

It was the saltiest dinner Takeru ever had.

* * *

Ryoken’s heart raced. His head pounded. His lungs were on fire. Millions of thoughts poured like rushing water into his mind.

_I should’ve stayed at the grandparents’ house._

_I should’ve just walked away._

_I should’ve kept my mouth shut._

_I should’ve, I should’ve, I should’ve . . . ._

The pounding headache intensified, and Ryoken laid on his side, trying to take deep breaths but coughing instead. How could one interaction with the little firecracker make him feel so awful, so on the edge?

Yet . . . so alive?

Ryoken curled up further into a ball, staring blankly at the door, his mind replaying over and over Takeru’s biting words.

_Why do you think you’re better than me?_

_You’re one of them, aren’t you?_

_I wish you could go away forever!_

“What’s his problem?” muttered Ryoken. Maybe Ryoken shouldn’t have talked with Takeru, like he was supposed to have done in the first place, but that was no reason for Takeru to shout at him. Takeru knew nothing, in many ways. Ryoken wondered then if he should just tell him the truth. Tell him what happened that night, so that he could leave him alone.

Ryoken put a hand to his rapidly beating heart. Did he really want Takeru to leave him alone, to act as if he didn’t exist, though? And even if Takeru knew and didn’t leave him alone, it would crush him to know he’s the reason they weren’t supposed to talk to each other. Ryoken stared at his shaking right hand, clenching and unclenching it to calm his wired nerves.

No, that’s right—Ryoken had as much to do with how Takeru and he couldn’t see each other as Takeru did, if not more. He didn’t understand how, but it’s clear he’d done something to Takeru for him to not trust him.

Not that Ryoken could blame him. Ryoken knew he wasn’t the nicest person in the world. Far from it. And Ryoken couldn’t stand Takeru either, the way he couldn’t think before he spoke. Three things were clear, however: one, there was still something about Takeru, spark he was drawn to; two, even with the two of them not getting along, the Homuras were more than willing to let him stay, which he didn’t get; but three, as long as he was with the Homuras, as long as he couldn’t tell Takeru the truth and the adults wouldn’t tell Takeru either, he’d only cause trouble.

That voice from the last time wasn’t there, but Ryoken knew. He couldn’t stay.

Ryoken checked his belongings one last time, heart pounding in his chest, swung the satchel over his shoulder, and quietly climbed through the window.

* * *

Takeru had been trying to fall asleep, tossing and turning in his bed, his stuffed animals—presents from Jii-Jii—strewn everywhere. As he was, however, he heard running footsteps, opening and slamming of doors, the low-pitched voices of Daddy, Ojii-chan, and Obaa-chan and Mommy’s high-pitched, hysterical crying. It was hard to sleep with all that noise, and, as curious as Takeru was to find out what was going on, he wasn’t about to risk Daddy or Ojii-chan’s wrath for butting in when he shouldn’t. So, he settled for pressing an ear to the door, straining to concentrate on what they were saying.

But he was too tired. He couldn’t focus. His desire to find out what was happening, however, was stronger, so he pressed an ear further against the door until the grumbling turned into words, and Takeru could finally understand.

“Ryoko, it’s okay,” Daddy said. “He couldn’t have traveled far.”

Takeru straightened his back. _He_?

“Hisahito’s right,” Ojii-chan chimed in. “We’re in the safe part of town, so he should be fine—”

“It’s _nighttime_ ,” Mommy replied, her voice breaking. “No child should be out wandering now.”

 _Child_? Takeru’s eyes widened. No. No, it _couldn’t_ be. They really weren’t talking about who Takeru thought they were talking about . . . were they?

_I wish you could just go away forever!_

The corner of Takeru’s eyes watered. Pretty Boy wouldn’t just up and leave like that. Takeru shook his head. Of course he would, especially since Takeru hadn’t really given him a reason to stick around, saying all those nasty things he didn’t mean to him. His stomach suddenly hurting, as though someone were pulling it from the inside, Takeru went back to bed, clutching a black and red dragon stuffed animal close to his stomach.

“Where did you go, Pretty Boy?” muttered Takeru into his stuffed animal. No sooner had he said that, the door was shoved opened, temporarily blinding Takeru with the dull brightness of the hallway. As soon as Takeru rubbed his eyes, he saw Mommy and Daddy, face stern and serious.

“Mommy? Daddy?” A yawn punctuated Takeru’s questions.

Mommy plopped down to his level, gently caressing a thumb over his cheek. “Sorry to wake you, Firecracker,” she said. “You haven’t seen Ryoken, have you?”

“No, Mommy,” Takeru yawned, rubbing his eyes.

“Are you sure, Takeru?” Daddy’s voice boomed, and a chill went down Takeru’s spine. “You’re not lying to us, right?”

The biting way Daddy had asked had Takeru clutching his stuffed animal closer. Mommy must have sensed that fear because she wrapped her arms around Takeru, who could barely see over her shoulder.

“Hito, that’s _enough_ ,” Mommy hissed. “If Takeru says he didn’t see him, he didn’t see him. Don’t force it.”

Takeru pushed his face into Mommy’s shirt, taking in its fresh linen smell and rubbing his nose against it.

“Mommy, is Pretty Boy okay?” he asked, a yawn tickling the sides of his mouth. Mommy pecked the top of his head and rubbed it slowly.

A pause.

“We’re doing everything we can to find him,” she said, “so don’t worry. Just go back to sleep, okay?”

 _So he is gone_. Takeru clutched his stuffed animal tighter, tight so that his knuckles were white, hand hurting. After Takeru nodded, Mommy and Daddy walked to the hallway and closed the door, and Takeru laid down on the bed, still holding the stuffed animal as if letting it go would invite even more danger.

_I wish you could just go away forever!_

Those words. That moment. They kept coming back over and over like a movie on a scratched DVD. It wasn’t the night Takeru needed to remember, but his brain wouldn’t shut it off. Takeru felt something new, something that made him wish he could take back what he said, what he did that night. And his entire body ached.

Takeru sighed and swallowed loud and hard, his throat on fire, but it didn’t matter. The tears still came. He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand one bit. He never felt so torn before, even when Daddy or Ojii-chan would scold him for something he did. So why was the thought of Pretty Boy being gone forever breaking him down so much? He didn’t get it, he didn’t get it, he didn’t _get it_! Pretty Boy was gone, and that’s what he’d wanted after all those annoying days with him. Sure, Mommy was upset, and whenever she was upset, Takeru was upset. But he should be happy!

But he wasn’t. Somehow, someway, Pretty Boy—no, Ryoken got to his heart. Takeru’s brain was all too willing to let him go, knowing none of this would’ve happened if Ryoken never showed up. But his heart, his heart that wanted someone around who wasn’t his parents or grandparents or Kiku clung to Ryoken, not letting up one bit.

And it really, really hurt. 

“Ryoken . . .” Takeru hiccupped.

Giving someone a chance shouldn’t have been that painful.

* * *

**Kamishirakawa Residence**

After finishing her bath and putting on her bright green pajamas, Kiku rolled onto her bed, planning out the next day in her head: one, playing with Benji; two, going grocery shopping with Mama; three, going on a walk with Papa. And then eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner after those things! Yet another busy day in the life of Kamishirakawa Kiku, and she was excited for tomorrow.

But, then Kiku’s mind bounced around like a rubber ball, finding its way to thoughts about Takeru and Ryoken, so she pouted. She hadn’t seen the two of them in weeks after that very dramatic incident at the Homuras. Not that she knew what happened, since Mama hadn’t said—and wouldn’t say—anything more than something went on. It must have been really bad, though, if Kiku couldn’t see either of them. Benji had been plenty company these last couple—a human baby was more fun that she’d thought he’d be—but Kiku really missed Takeru and his loud-mouth and his saying stuff out of turn that would make her laugh.

She even sort of—only sort of, mind you!—missed Ryoken too, even though he talked as much as Papa. No, scratch that. A wall talked more than Ryoken did. A very strange boy, that one. Kiku couldn’t figure him out. That’s why she had wanted Takeru’s help in getting him trouble, to see what he was like under that “I don’t care about anything” attitude. Only adults were supposed to act like that.

But that chance was blown to bits.

As Kiku struggled to stay awake, lying on her bed, a gentle knock brought her out of her swirling thoughts. She sat straight up, her ponytails rocking side to side from the force.

“Can I come in?” came Mama’s sweet voice through the door. 

“Yes, Mama.”

The door creaked, revealing Mama with Benji, sucking on his pacifier, fast asleep. Mama’s caring eyes were filled with worry, so Kiku fidgeted, the bed underneath her squeaking from the added weight.

“Mama? Mama, what’s wrong?”

Mama sighed. “Ryoken’s missing.”

Kiku blinked slowly, not believing what she just heard. Mama then, Benji rocking slightly in her arms, sat next to her. The two sat in silence for a few moments.

“What do you mean Ryoken’s _missing_?” Kiku finally asked. “The Homura house is biiiiiig, so Ryoken could just be camping out somewhere in the backyard?”

Mama shook her head. “Ryoko and Hito have already tried looking there. Homura ojii-chan and Homura obaa-chan checked their house too, and still couldn’t find him. If he’s not back soon, Ryoko wants me and Papa to look for him.”

“I don’t get it . . .” Kiku muttered. Why Ryoken would up and leave the Homuras made her scratch her head. He didn’t really have anywhere else to go. And the Homuras were very nice people. What had been the final straw?

Mama pulled Kiku in for a hug, Kiku touching heads with Benji, who smelled strongly of baby powder.

“We don’t understand either,” Mama said. “We’ll find him, though. And we’ll figure out why he wandered off.” Mama then stood up.

“Mama?”

“I’m going to sleep now,” she smiled. “You should too. We’ll let the Homuras handle this, and we’ll take over in the morning if Ryoko says he’s not back.”

“Okay, Mama,” Kiku answered. The door was shut, and Kiku was once again alone, still processing the news, still not getting it. Kiku could never run away from home. Her bed was too nice and soft, her room was too cozy, and the food was delicious! But, most importantly, she loved her parents too much—and maybe her baby brother too—to worry them. And as much as he whined about Papa Homura and Homura ojii-chan being too mean, Takeru was the same. So, she couldn’t understand how Ryoken could do it.

But, then again, the Homuras weren’t Ryoken’s parents.

Kiku exhaled a long sigh. It was no use worrying herself about it. She’d let the adults handle it. After all, it was the Homuras’ problem, not hers. She knew better than to spend her energy on something she couldn’t control, after the last big thing that happened. Rolling herself up in her covers, she tried going to sleep.

_Tap tap tap._

Kiku sat straight up, looking towards her curtains. What could that be? She was trying to sleep! Maybe it’s a lost little stray cat? They tend to bump into things. But –

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

–that didn’t sound like a little stray cat. The tapping was too neat, like someone knocking on a door. Rubbing her eyes, Kiku unfurled herself from her blankets and covers and walked towards the curtain. She sleepily tossed the left curtain to one side, and, at first, all she saw in her sleepy state was a whitish, grayish-blue blob. Blinking several times, the blob became sharper until it became a person. Fully awake and recognizing the person in front of her, Kiku immediately opened the window, the frigid air making her shiver, but her surprise kept her warm.

“Hi, Kiku,” the unexpected guest whispered first, clutching his satchel tightly. Kiku blinked several times, then rubbed her eyes again. But no matter how many times she blinked or rubbed her eyes or pinched herself, _he_ still stood there.

The one everyone was searching for just appeared like a ghost.

“Ryoken?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *casually waltzes in late w/ a cup of fruit juice* happy new year guess who's back w/ another cliffhanger. >:3c
> 
> I was extremely busy over the holidays, so I barely got any writing done, and even when I did have time to write, it was hard to focus, which why is there wasn't a chapter last month. Hopefully, this chapter was worth the wait 😊
> 
> At the time of this author note. I see this fic has nearly 300 hits?!?!?! 😭💖 It was nearly 200 last chapter, so I'm absolutely thrilled this fic is gaining traction in the TakeRyo community. Thank you to everyone who's supported this fic by reading, leaving kudos, reviewing, etc. I know I keep saying it, but it truly means a lot to me that people love this fic, as it's my first "over three chapters" fic 😂😭 Please look forward to the next chapter!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Kamishirakawa Residence**

Kiku’s outburst hung in the air as Kiku and Ryoken stared, she standing on the plastic wood floor with her green-socked feet, he being glued in place with his frayed light gray sneakers.

“Can I come in? It’s cold out here—” Before he could finish, though, Kiku grabbed both his cheeks and stretched them, her eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowing. He took a big step backwards.

Not the welcome he expected.

“What’s the big idea?” he huffed.

Kiku put her hands on her hips, her pout growing, as she studied Ryoken more, her right eye looking so hard, it twitched.

“The _big idea_ , Ryoken,” Kiku explained, “is I had to make sure you were Ryoken and not an evil ghost. You feel real, so you must not be a ghost.”

Ryoken only stared, his mouth open. What’s _with_ these people and ghosts? First the Homuras, then Kiku. It’s ridiculous. Ghosts weren’t real! Father said so, so it had to have been the truth. There’s no way Father could be wrong.

A chill, however, ran through Ryoken. He shivered, putting his hands in his hoodie sleeves. “Please, Kiku,” he pleaded, “can I come in?”

Kiku made a “hmm” sound for several seconds, eyes closed. Then, sighing, she stepped to the side. “Okay, but take your shoes off first. Papa just cleaned the floor.” Ryoken nodded and did as instructed, leaving them in a crook underneath the platform where the window met the ground. As soon as his socks touched one of the rugs, Ryoken thought he’d collapse from all the pain leaving his body, but he strengthened his nerves. It wasn’t his house or the Homuras, plus he only needed to rest for a few moments. He couldn’t relax so carelessly.

Ryoken watched as Kiku wordlessly took several blue and green polka-dot pillows and blankets from a drawer, tossing them on the floor next to her bed.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” Kiku returned. “It’s much too late to go anywhere right now. You need sleep.”

The patterned pillows and blankets grabbed Ryoken’s attention, his resolve fading a tiny bit. No doubt they were clean, fluffy, warm. Ryoken, however, shook his head. He did take his bath before leaving the Homuras, but who knows what germs he dragged in from outside. He couldn’t possibly dirty those sheets. Ryoken opened his mouth. “No, Kiku, I just need to rest my feet a little, then I’m leaving,” he wanted to say. Something about Kiku’s face and the way she sighed as she prepared Ryoken’s makeshift bed, though, glued his mouth shut. So he simply watched. He was the guest, anyway. He wasn’t supposed to make demands.

After Kiku smoothed and fluffed the last of the pillows, she wordlessly climbed into her own bed, sheets over her head, no eye contact with Ryoken, who stared at the pillows and sheets on the floor. A few moments later, a strained whisper came through the sheets: “Good night, Ryoken.”

“Good . . . night, Kiku,” Ryoken replied. He was staying the night at Kiku’s, and that was that. He reached into his satchel, pulling out his wrinkled light blue pajamas. Ryoken could hear a faint inhale and exhale from Kiku’s bed. After confirming she was asleep, he quietly shed his outside clothes, crumpled them in a ball, and changed into his pajamas, rolling the ball of clothes under Kiku’s bed. Combing through his hair with his fingers several times, he rolled into his temporary bed, staring at the sea waves on the ceiling. He stared and stared, trying not to think of what happened at the Homuras, of what went on between him and Takeru. It crept into his mind anyway.

Ryoken had done the right thing. He’s sure of it. Takeru had said things were fine before Ryoken showed up, so they’d be fine—he was certain—once Ryoken left. It’d been one horrible thing after another since he got there, so he couldn’t possibly trouble the Homuras anymore. It wouldn’t have been fair to them.

He turned, facing the window. Then, the Homuras crossed his mind. The grandparents were probably still awake, but Hisahito-san and Ryoko-san might’ve been asleep. That left Takeru, and Ryoken scrunched his eyebrows. The little firecracker was so unpredictable, who knows what he’s doing. He probably hadn’t even noticed the room next to his was quiet again, empty of his next room neighbor.

But Ryoken couldn’t shake the uneasiness in his gut. Frustrated, Ryoken pulled the sheets over his head, seeing only a light blue. What did it matter what Takeru was doing? What did it matter what _any_ of them were doing? That wasn’t his home, and neither was where he was. Before anyone else got up tomorrow, Ryoken would be on his way. His way to where? He didn’t know. Away, at the very least. Away so no one could find him. He had made a big mistake, running away from Father. Maybe it was time for him to return.

_You can’t go back there._

Ryoken frowned. The voice he kept hearing should tell him what he should do instead of what he couldn’t do or hadn’t deserved to feel. It’s no better than Father and his demands—no, at least Father and his demands made sense. What did it want, and why was it annoying him? 

“Why?” Ryoken whispered into the silence, fully expecting to hear the voice again, as if he were talking with someone. But there was no reply. The voice dared Ryoken to know the answers, frustrating him even more. What the heck did he know? He’s just a kid!

_A kid who would’ve been in danger had he stayed there._

There it was.

And it was right. 

The only way was forward, not backward. He would see Father again, but it wasn’t time yet. In the morning, the Homuras, Kiku and her family, his questioning of everything he’s ever known—they’d all be memories he’d hopefully forget. He’d keep moving. He’d get up before everyone, and, like the ghost everyone thought he was, vanish, without a trace.

His racing mind finally at peace, Ryoken let sleep take over.

* * *

But, as the stars would have it, Ryoken was _the last_ in the house to wake up the next day. By the time Ryoken finally opened his eyes, Kiku’s bedroom was aglow with the late morning bright yellow sun peering through the sheer curtains. Ryoken quickly turned towards Kiku’s bed, only to find the sheets neatly folded, the pillows arranged in a bouquet formation, like Kiku never slept in it at all. But Kiku herself was nowhere to be found.

Ryoken laid back on his half-folded pillow, arms stretched out in defeat. The _one_ time he needed to be up early so he could make his grand escape, and he failed. But, then again, there wasn’t anything or anyone in the house to stop him from leaving. He could grab his stuff, sneak out through the window, and leave. No one would ever have to know. Kiku could think she simply imagined him ever being in the house, shrug, and move on.

Ryoken forced himself to sit up, reaching for the ball of clothes he’d rolled under Kiku’s bed the night before—only to be continually grasping at air.

_What?!_

Ryoken, on his hands and knees, looked underneath the bed, scanning the entire underside for his light grey hoodie, pink shirt, and light grey pants clothing ball.

_It was gone!!_

Ryoken’s head snapped toward his bed. His satchel was still against the wall, so that was good. But why were his only other clothes missing?! He couldn’t leave town without them, especially since it was more bone-chilling by the day outside. Outside! He still had his shoes outside, right? He quietly ran to the window, pulled aside the curtain and the door, and peered over to where he’d left his shoes the night before. They were gone too!

Had he gotten up early like he wanted, he wouldn’t be having this problem. Furiously scratching his head, Ryoken defeatedly laid back down on his bed, arms stretched out in surrender, a groan escaping from his mouth.

Fate, the stars—they were nothing but a cruel joke.

Ryoken’s eyes found their way to the ceiling, the chirping of birds next to the window lulling him further . . . and further . . . and further back to sleep. His eyelids started drooping, his heart relaxing, muscles untensed, and he let the comfort of his makeshift bed wrap around his body . . .

. . . only to be interrupted by the clicking and opening of the bedroom door. Ryoken sat up, blood rushing to his head so that he was in a daze. Squinting, he saw something dark blue moving around, and, blinking a few times, that something dark blue slowly turned into Kiku darting back and forth from the other side of the door to her sunlit covered room. At last, she brought a small tray with a light brown slice of bread with a layer of butter on top resting on a china plate with a small cup of green tea to the side before gently closing the door with her foot. She sat the tray next to Ryoken, who stared in confusion.

“Is something wrong?” Kiku pouted. “Mama made this, so it should taste fine.”

Ryoken stared further. “Does. Does she know I’m here?”

“Nope,” replied Kiku. “From the sneaky way you showed up last night, I thought it was best if no one knew. So,” Kiku put her pointer finger and thumb together and made a crossing motion across her mouth, “I kept my mouth shut.”

Ryoken exhaled slowly, relieved, letting the sneaky comment slide. But, as he gave thanks for the sliced bread and tea and reached for the bread, Kiku added, “It _was_ hard though, with everyone is looking for you.”

Ryoken dropped his barely eaten bread on the plate, the bread making a clinking sound and sprinkling crumbs.

“What?”

Kiku nodded. “Uh huh. Mama Homura called Mama last night. She said you were missing. And this morning, Mama said you never went back. But Mama and Papa Homura had work, so we and Homura ojii-chan and obaa-chan spent _aaaaaalllll_ morning looking for you.” Kiku rubbed her feet. “My feet _still_ hurt.”

Ryoken’s heart pounded in his chest. The Homuras not only had noticed, but they were _looking_ for him? He hadn’t expected that. All of them—all of them should be glad there was one less mouth to feed, one less body to take care of, one less person to worry about. He had been nothing but a bother to them. Yet they were _looking_ for _him_?!

“They shouldn’t bother. I’m not going back there,” mumbled Ryoken, hoping that Kiku hadn’t heard. But Kiku’s hearing proved to be stronger than expected, her eyes momentarily losing the sparkle that had shone through before.

“Why not?”

Ryoken’s shoulders stiffened under her accusing gaze, but he still found courage to speak what was on his troubled mind: “I don’t have to tell you. You don’t need to know.”

Kiku sat back, the sparkle in the eyes returning, but her eyes widened, her eyebrows raised the highest possible. The chirping of birds occupied the silence between the two. Kiku sat back, biting her lower lip. There was a long pause—so long, that Ryoken had thought Kiku had fallen asleep with her eyes open. As he opened his mouth, however, Kiku’s eyes narrowed.

“I _need_ to know,” she said. “I need to know, Ryoken. Why you ran away, why Mama and the Homuras are looking for you, why—” Kiku swallowed hard, a small cry escaping her throat, “why I can’t see Takeru, my best friend. _Why_ , Ryoken?”

Ryoken’s eyes wandered to the light shining through the window, and he hugged his knees closer to his face. He realized then that his mistake that night, the night he showed he was truly Father’s child, did more damage than just to Takeru or the Homuras. Kiku was hurt too. So was her family. And he hadn’t known how to fix any of it, except for running away. But that way was backfiring.

Ryoken might not have wanted to tell Takeru what happened since he hadn’t wanted to hurt him, especially since that night ceased to exist in his memory. But Ryoken keeping the truth captive wasn’t going to work with Kiku. In fact, hiding the truth would only hurt her more than if Ryoken would simply fess up. The way Kiku had asked “Why?”, the way Ryoken could hear her pain and loneliness—it told him everything. Kiku, too, was looking for answers, answers that the adults refused to give her. But, unlike Takeru, Kiku had nothing to emotionally lose by knowing the truth, even if it didn’t put her friend in the brightest light.

So, instead of running away or dodging the question, Ryoken took a deep breath. “Okay, Kiku. I’ll tell you.”

After taking a sip of the warm green tea, Ryoken recounted everything that happened, beginning from the evening Ryoken had told Takeru to not be late for dinner. He didn’t spare any moment, not even Takeru choking or pushing him against the wall. Not even him returning the favor by slapping Takeru across the face that night as Ryoko-san and Hisahito-san watched. He had expected Kiku to interrupt him, to say something like “Takeru would _never_ do that!”, to completely deny that Takeru would do anything of the sort simply because he was her friend or say how horrible Ryoken was.

But Kiku simply listened, closing her eyes occasionally as he went on, his throat feeling cramped, dried out as he did so.

When Ryoken had finished, chattering and chirping from the outside and food sizzling filled the silent space between him and Kiku. The smell of a baked sweet delicacy reached his nose, and his stomach rumbled despite the fact he had just eaten the buttery toast. Ryoken’s face pinked, hoping Kiku hadn’t heard. But judging from her eyebrows, Ryoken saw she was deep in thought and hadn’t noticed.

Kiku then relaxed her face, eyes calm and understanding.

“Kiku?”

“Thank you for telling me, Ryoken,” Kiku said finally. “I knew something was going on. But no one would tell me what. So it makes me happy you told me. But . . .”

Ryoken raised an eyebrow. “But?”

Kiku closed her eyes and smiled. “You . . . really are a little stupid.”

 _What?_ “Huh?!?!” Ryoken’s mouth hung open. “What does _that_ mean?”

“It just feels, well, weird. You feel bad about doing that to Takeru, but you still want to be with him. And Takeru wants to be with you. But you keep pushing him away.” Kiku opened her eyes, her deep brown eyes concentrating deeply on Ryoken’s. “And the Homuras want to help you, but that makes you feel icky. But you want that help too. You want it, but then you shove it away.”

Ryoken’s shoulders stiffened. There was no doubt about it – she’s right. His heart was being pulled in many directions, and he wasn’t sure which direction to take. On the one hand, he wanted life with the Homuras. He wanted that warmth, that understanding, life that had been unthinkable before. But he knew that wasn’t his true home, that it was only temporary. And with every fight with Takeru, it was more and more obvious he could never belong there.

Takeru didn’t want him there. So why would he –

_“And Takeru wants to be with you.”_

Ryoken’s eyes widened.

“Kiku,” Ryoken stared at the floor, “how . . . ?”

“How?”

Ryoken swallowed. “How do you know Takeru wants to be with me?” When Kiku only blinked, he continued, “He’s done nothing but yell at me, saying I should’ve never showed up. He doesn’t want anything to do with me. So how?”

Kiku smiled. “And that’s why you’re a little stupid, Ry _ooo_ ken,” she said as she pushed herself closer to Ryoken. Taking her thumb and her pointer finger, she flicked Ryoken on the forehead, causing Ryoken to yelp and put his hand on the middle of his forehead, which stung.

“What was _that_ for?” Ryoken huffed, but Kiku giggled.

“You think way too much,” she said as Ryoken massaged his temple. “You have to be _here_ , Ryoken, not anywhere else. You might understand more things that way.”

“That . . .” Ryoken sighed, “. . . doesn’t answer anything.”

“I know ‘cause Takeru’s my best friend.” Kiku grinned. “He might get words mixed up. And he lets his hands do the talking before his mouth does. But his big, big, biiiiig heart makes up for it. You know that by now, right?”

Ryoken stared at his hands. “He just wants his answers that he’s not getting. It’s got nothing to do with me.” A pause. “I’m not . . . his heart doesn’t want me.”

Kiku sighed as she stood on her feet. She walked out of the room for a few moments, then returned with a pile of clothes, setting them in front of Ryoken. Ryoken blinked. _These were his!_

“You might still be a huge puzzle to me, to us, but,” Kiku smiled, “you can trust us. Mama, Papa, and me . . . Mama and Papa Homura . . . Homura obaa-chan and ojii-chan . . . and Takeru too. We really, _really_ care about you. That’s why the adults are looking for you, why Takeru misses you.”

Ryoken felt a lump in his throat. He was still tired, so it made sense. But that reasoning alone wasn’t enough to stop him from shedding a tear. Or two. Or several. Kiku saying all of that shouldn’t have made him so weepy-eyed, but it had. What was it? What was making Ryoken that way? It’s not like Father and his coworkers who were the closest he’s had to family hadn’t cared about him, so there was nothing unusual about what Kiku said. He’s been cared about before.

But . . . but not like he’s been with the Homuras or Kiku’s family.

The caring Father and his coworkers had done, and the caring the Homuras and Kiku’s family were doing—they were vastly different. As long as Ryoken did what he was supposed to do, Father, Dr. Aso, Dr. Taki, Dr. Genome cared. They cared a lot. Any big thing Ryoken did or learned and was able to practice was an occasion for a party.

But when Ryoken didn’t achieve, what had they done?

_“Not now, Ryoken. I’m busy.”_

_“Sorry, Ryoken-sama, but could you eat by yourself? I’m in the middle of something.”_

_“Humblest apologies, Ryoken-sama. There’s something I have to do first.”_

_“Thanks for the help, Ryoken-sama. Your pay. See you tomorrow.”_

Ryoken hugged his knees to his chest, eyes watering. Who was he when he wasn’t winning the praise of Father and his coworkers by showing off his knowledge? Who was he when he wasn’t impressing anyone else with his smarts?

Ryoken hadn’t realized he was shaking until he felt a hand on his arm, which trembled in the touch. His head shot up, tears streaming, nose threatening to run, and he looked at Kiku, her eyes filled with worry. He immediately rubbed his face on his sleeves, the evidence of his frustration and hurt wiped on the fabric. But fresh tears took their place.

_Why?_

“Are you okay?” Kiku asked as Ryoken tried with all his might to keep a sob from bubbling out of his throat.

“I. I-I.”

But the sob escaped, and Ryoken held a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. Kiku, however, gently pulled it away.

“You can cry,” said Kiku. “Takeru does it all the time. It’s okay.”

Even so, Ryoken put his head on his knees, not wanting her to see the hurt, the confusion, the irritation spilling all over his face, not wanting her to hear the sobs that wouldn’t stay in his throat. As much as he didn’t want her to see, however, he felt a hand rub up and down his back—a gesture that did calm him down. His body stopped shaking, but the tears continued to flow.

“Ryoken . . .”

“Kiku, what should I do?” he interrupted her. “I don’t want to be confused. I don’t want things to be like this! What do I need to do?!”

A pause.

“Go back to the Homuras,” she said. “Go back to Takeru. Tell him how you feel. Other than that, only you know what you need to do.”

Ryoken clutched his knees tighter, his knees leaving a stinging mark on his forehead. Go back? When the Homuras wouldn’t let the two of them near each other?

“Weren’t you listening? The Homuras aren’t gonna let me—”

“Live a little, will you?” Kiku sighed. “Maybe the adults built this wall between you and Takeru, but you just have to smash through it, even if it makes them mad.” Ryoken looked up as she stared off to the side.

“Kiku . . .”

She stood up and stretched. “I snuck your hoodie, shirt, and pants in the wash. They should be dry by now. If you put on your clothes, you can be on your way. To the Homuras or away from this sleepy town. Whatever you want to do.”

Ryoken rolled the clothes in his hands, then he looked out the window, at one of the trees whose leaves were mostly bright orange. The thought of going back to Father, even though Ryoken hadn’t known Father’s plans, made his stomach churn. He knew it wasn’t safe. Yet he couldn’t leave town either. But he also he couldn’t go back to the Homuras. His heart was saying it wasn’t time yet. He would go back to them sooner rather than later. But he needed space for a while longer, to get his heart in order.

And Kiku’s room, with its bright window and inviting walls, was that space, if she allowed it.

“Would it . . . ?” Ryoken swallowed. “Would it be okay if I stayed here?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter???? when it hasn't even been a month since the last one??? a concept. 😂 ALSO THIS FIC HAS 350+ HITS NOW???? BRUH!!!! THANK Y'ALL!!! 💖💖💖 I really appreciate it! 😊 
> 
> Not much else to say really. Writing a Kiku-Ryoken friendship building mini-arc was def not in the original outline, but it's the only way to get Kiku more involved + not sidelined for a million chapters. So let me know what y'all think of it so far 😂 Personally, I didn't expect to enjoy writing their interactions as much as I did, but now that I've done one chapter of it, MORE WILL BE COMING. MARK MY WORDS. 
> 
> And yeah. That's pretty much it. Happy Valentine's Day, y'all, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please look forward to the next one 😊


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